


The Lawn Ranger

by Snowjob



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Derek and Stiles are the Same Age, Developing Relationship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Jock Stiles, M/M, Masturbation, Meet the Family, Pining, Slow Build, Young Derek is a little shit, loner Derek, yard work simulator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 47,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowjob/pseuds/Snowjob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek is an adolescent werewolf with a penchant for chocolate bunnies, and instead of the dream summer of lazing around the house playing video games and nibbling on his hoarded supply of easter candy his mother makes him get a job.</p><p>In which Stiles is a showoff jock with a broken arm and an embarrassing crush who can no longer push the lawn mower around the yard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s three days into summer break and Derek is blissed out, slouched into the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, already on his second packet of untoasted toaster pastries as he watches a marathon of _How It’s Made_. 

“Hey Tubby,” Laura says in greeting as she plops down on the cushion next to him, probing at his slightly rounded belly, “want another poptart, Tubby?” Derek shrugs, taking another bite of his Wildberry treat. It’s not as good as the vanilla creme, but it’ll do.

“I’m comfortable with who I am,” he says through the crumbs, settling deeper into the couch, throwing back a bottle of Yoo-Hoo. Laura snorts in disgust before leaning over and grabbing the second pastry from the shiny wrapping, giving it a long lick before Derek can protest.

“Hey, that’s mine!”

“Hmmm, doesn’t have your name on it, in fact,” she pops out a claw and makes a quick etch of her initials into the crust, “oh, looky here!”

“Ugh, whatever, just, go sit over there, you stink like fries and grease.” Derek waves his hand and tries to move closer to the armrest, away from his sister, who of course takes the opportunity to lean hard into his side. 

“It’s cause i have a job, you assmunch. You know what those are, right? I’m surprised Mom’s not making you get one.”

“Oh she did, I told her I was mowing lawns this summer. But for some reason I haven’t gotten any calls, so I guess I should just wait here. By the phone.”

“By the TV and snacks you mean. Did you even put out flyers?”

“Of course,” Derek tears open the third bag of poptarts, “not my fault if no one wants their lawn manicured by yours truly.” Laura eyes him, but he stares steadfastly ahead, pretending to be enraptured by the latest episode covering the production of breath mints. There’s no way she could know he’d purposefully fudged the phone number, flipping the last two. He feels a bit sorry for the poor bastard who has 4465, but the alternative is a summer full of physical labor and, well, he really wants to know how manual motorcycle transmissions come into this world. 

______________________________

It’s seven days into summer break when all of Derek’s plans go straight to hell. Talia’s grinning ear to ear as she hands the cordless to Derek, who puts on fake enthusiasm as he answers.

“Hello?” And then adds, thanks to a gentle (elbow to the side) reminder from his mother, “D’s Lawncare. How can I help you?”

“Yes hi, I’m looking for someone to mow my lawn and do some light weeding over the summer. My son broke his arm - still not entirely convinced it wasn’t to get out of yardwork-,” Derek can just make out someone grumbling in the background, “so I need someone to pick up the slack. You interested?”

“Um-” he can’t not take the job, his mom is standing right there, nodding supportively, “sure, I mean yes. Yes, I’d be happy to take the job.” Talia thrusts a notepad at him, some questions scribbled down for him, “Can we discuss an hourly rate?” He reads aloud, then immediately blushes at his forwardness, but the man on the other line seems to take it in stride.

“Of course. Your ad said ‘negotiable’, and I was thinking $15 an hour?” Then, from the background, “ _What? That’s five more than you pay me!_ ” Derek hears a hand brush against the mouthpiece, which does nothing to keep the sounds from reaching his sensitive ears. “ _Keep griping and I’ll raise it to twenty and take it out of your summer allowance_.” That seems to shut the extra voice up as the man returns to the phone.

“Fifteen sounds great,” Derek says hastily, ready to get to the next question, “Do I need to bring my own equipment?” He raises an eyebrow at his mother, who nods and mouths _you can take the truck_ , which spikes his heart rate. He’d only gotten his license last month, and has barely driven on his own, much less Uncle Peter’s beloved 4x4. 

“We’ve got a push lawn mower and weed wacker, and some other tools. I’ll leave a key to the shed with Stiles, you can root around in there and use anything you need.” Derek breaks out into a cold sweat at the name drop. _Stiles_? He’s going to be working on _Stiles’_ lawn? His stomach is in knots as his mother gives him a concerned look, feeling the sudden change in emotion.

“Uh, yeah, that sounds good. So now just, where and when?” His throat is dry as he asks the last question, pen slipping in his sweaty grip as he jots down the address. “Mm hmm, and 8 am, tomorrow?”

“Just for the first one, so I can meet you in person. After that you can pretty much come when you’d like, so long as it’s once to twice a week.” Derek nods, then, with another gentle push from his mother, verbalizes the nod into the phone.

“Sounds great. See you tomorrow.”

“Hold on son,” Derek pulls the phone back to his ear, feeling a little queasy, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Oh, sorry, it’s Derek, Derek Hale.” His mother’s giving him a withering glare, like she can’t believe she raised a son who doesn’t introduce himself first thing on a phone call. 

“Ah, thought so. John Stilinski. Looking forward to meeting with you, Derek.”

“Yes sir.” Derek waits for the click and dial tone before handing the phone back to his mother.

“Looks like your flyers finally paid off.” She says with a knowing grin as she sets the handset back on the cradle.

“Yeah, looks like…” Derek’s head is swimming, confusion laced with anxiety. How did Mr. Stilinski call the right number? Even Laura didn’t notice the typo when she’d pointed out his “stupid brand name” while they were at the grocery store. _D’s Lawncare_ , no tagline. In truth it was all part of his master plan to not get any work this summer; create a business name so nondescript and dull no one would be able to decipher who it was. Except for, apparently, John Stilinski.

“And hey, if you do a good job I’m sure the sheriff will recommend you to the rest of the precinct. This could be a real boon to your business!” She ruffles his hair lightly before heading down to the basement to pull some meat out of the freezer to thaw for dinner. Derek no longer has an appetite, consumed with the panic that in sixteen hours he’s going to have to go to work. For Sheriff Stilinski. Stiles’ father. 

______________________________

 

“ _Looking forward to meeting with you, Derek_.” Stiles chokes a little on his milk, pulling the carton away from his lips as he sputters, coughing up droplets and generally making a mess.

“Derek?” He wheezes, wiping at the driblings with his good arm, “As in Derek _Hale_?”

“Yep.” John slips the phone into his back pocket, “Looks like you’re off the hook for outdoor summer chores.”

“No, no no no, you can’t- why can’t you hire Scott?” John raises his brows.

“Because Scott’s not offering lawn mowing services; in fact he was over here just yesterday telling me all about the job he landed at the veterinary clinic. Remember?” 

“Yeah... but, _Derek_?” John fixes Stiles with the _look_ , crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Do you have a problem with this boy? Is there something I should know about?” Stiles pauses, mind racing to come up with some probable excuse as to why Derek couldn’t possibly be their lawn care provider, while not getting him into any _actual_ trouble. He can’t tell his dad that having Derek around all summer will be absolute torture, that there’s never been anyone else he’s wanted to both tease until he cries and kiss breathless beneath the bleachers. Or in the back of a car. Or an alleyway; he’s not too particular. Point is, Derek riles him up in the worst ways. Or best ways, depending on the time of day and proximity to other people. 

“No- it’s just, well, he’s kinda, uh, not… punctual. Always late for class. And he’s really bad at... giving back... pens, so, I don’t know, he might, uh, run off with our tools?” He peeks up at his dad, who has remained physically and emotionally unmoved by Stiles’ proclamations, still giving him a cold stare. The stare he saves for perpetrators and teenage sons, apparently.

“If that’s all then, I’m going to need you boys to figure out some kind of schedule, so you can give him the shed keys, if he’s as untrustworthy as you seem to think,” Stiles winces, “So, 8 am, tomorrow morning. Be awake and dressed.” 

“Ugh, why dressed? It’s summer break!”

“Because I don’t want to subject poor Mrs. Claris to your boxers while you show Derek the equipment in the shed. Just because you’re injured doesn’t mean you can’t still help your old man out.” Stiles grumbles but nods, cradling his right arm to his chest as he walks up the stairs, slower than usual on account of not being able to grab the banisters. It makes him feel unbalanced, on edge. He hates it. 

Once in his room he awkwardly undoes his button and shimmies out of his pants, a menial task he hadn’t thought would get more challenging with the use of only one arm. He was wrong. Once free of his denim confinement he flops onto the bed, hissing at the pain shooting from his right arm. It was hard to remember not to do certain things like that, small, automatic movements that jostle his forearm and make him grit his teeth until the agony subsides. He knows he still has a few pain pills left, but doesn’t know where his dad hid them and doesn’t have the energy or willpower to ask. He just squeezes his eyes shut until the throbbing recedes to a dull ache, breathing out slowly. 

Once his heart rate and pain level are back to normal he’s able focus on the real issue: Derek Hale - nerdy, bunny-teethed, chipmunk-cheeked, smart, sensitive, _painfully cute_ Derek Hale - is going to be coming to his house. Alone. And he will have to interact with him. Alone. And try not to spy on him through his bedroom window like a creeper. Even if his telescope is already set up and pointing down to the yard. Which Derek will be working on. All summer.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, slipping his left hand beneath his boxers, awkwardly palming at his cock. He’s a righty and has always preferred dominance when getting off. Now, it’s like he’s just getting to know himself again. It’s clumsy, the angle’s off and he can’t twist with the same finesse, but thoughts of pushing Derek into the lockers, shoving him to the ground, grinding up on him as he mouths at his neck soon have him panting. Maybe he can somehow get it all out of his system before Derek shows up. Tomorrow morning. Fuck.

______________________________

 

Laura drops Derek and his bike off at the Stilinski’s on her way to work, making him a half-hour early for their appointed meeting time. He kicks around in the yard for a minute, debating on riding around the neighborhood for a bit to pass the time or just fleeing back home and hiding in the treehouse all day, before slapping himself in the face, taking a deep breath, and marching up the driveway. He opts to knock, figuring it might be more pleasant to be woken up to than a blaring doorbell, and seconds later is greeted by a shirtless Stiles, toothbrush dangling out of his mouth

“You’re early,” he says around the white plastic, pulling it out with a sucking sound that has Derek in a fluster, heart beating traitorously loud against his ribs. He was ready for Stiles to be a pain in the ass, but not a half-naked pain in the ass with broad shoulders and sleep-mussed hair.

"Yeah, sorry, I got a ride over, but-"

"Whatever, my dad'll love you for it," he turns without so much as a by-your-leave, and Derek scrambles to follow, hoping it's the right thing to do. The sheriff is sitting at the kitchen table, coffee and a plate of crumbs in front of him, reading the paper. It's incredibly domestic in spite of the gun on his hip.

"Ah, Derek, good to meet you. And early, even," the sheriff shares a significant look with Stiles - who grumbles and pinks at the tip of his ears - before going in for a handshake. Derek is sure give a tight-but-not-too-tight squeeze before shoving his hands back into his pockets, carefully keeping his eyes trained on the table or the window ahead of him, fighting every urge to shoot a glance at Stiles in all his half-dressed glory. The guy already hates him, and would KILL him if he thought he was checking him out. Not that he’s actually checking him out, he’s just… he’s curious. He’d never given much thought as to what was going on underneath the plaid and graphic tees, but now-

"Stiles, go put a shirt on!” Derek startles, thinking he’s been caught before the sheriff continues, “I told you to be dressed!" 

"He was early! How was I supposed to know?"

"If Derek can be up and dressed and _here_ this early, you can at least have a shirt on." Derek winces, he _knew_ he should have waited until 8, then Stiles would have been dressed (probably) with no extra reason to be mad at him. He can feel the glare on the back of his neck before hearing steps walking away and up the stairs, slower than he'd figure Stiles would normally move. He must _really_ be pissed.

"Sorry about that, son," the sheriff stands and slaps a hand against Derek's shoulder, jarring him back to the situation in front of him, "You know Stiles from school?"

"Uh, yeah, yes sir, we had Algebra II together last year." Derek decides not to mention the teasing, the pen-stealing, the rough shoulder knocks in the hallway. It's not harsh enough to bring parents, or police, as it were, into it, and he's a little worried that any 'tattling' would only escalate things. Or, and this is where he's really confused with himself, make it stop completely. Cause the thing is, for some godforsaken reason he'd rather have Stiles lightly bothering him than outright ignoring him. 

"Oh, good! So you two should be at least a little used to each other. Chances are I won't be around when you're here, so I've asked Stiles to figure out a schedule with you. It's not that I don't trust you,” he’s quick to add, “I'd just rather someone be here to let you in if you need to use the bathroom or have an injury or just need a water break. No matter what he says he is _not_ your supervisor, you hear me?" Derek grins a little at this and nods, receiving a small smile from the sheriff as well, before he shouts "You hear me!?" again, this time directed towards the stairs as Stiles saunters down, fully dressed.

"Oh come on, Dad, can't I just boss him around a little?" Despite his best efforts and survival instincts Derek's stomach does a little swoop at the thought of Stiles making demands of him, telling him what to do. Stiles shoots a wicked grin at him, which does nothing to allay the situation. 

"Stiles, don't make me call Mrs. Claris to babysit you all summer. I'll do it, she's been asking." That seems to effectively shut Stiles up as the sheriff motions for the boys to follow him out to the yard. The grass is still dewey and there's a nice breeze about, still cool from the night air. The yard is fairly well kempt already, but Derek can see where it can use some attention, due to Stiles’ injury and the sheriff’s busy schedule.

"Really, Derek, you'll be taking over for Stiles' weekly chores involving yardwork, so he can explain anything you might not remember after today. Lawn should be mowed once a week, perpendicular to the street. Weeding the flower beds twice a week, about 3 days apart, and watering, depending on the rain. There's also edging the drive and walkway and trimming the bushes, but that'll only need to happen maybe once a month. Think you can handle it?" Derek nods, before remembering his mother's elbow to the ribs and speaks.

"No problem, sir. Is there a way you'd like me to clock in and out?" The sheriff's eyes brighten at that. 

"I can grab some time-sheets from the temp office at work tonight. Just fill out your hours for the past week and I'll pay you the first day of the following week. Sound good?"

"Yes sir. And I can use the tools from the shed?"

"Yep, Stiles'll show you around there," he checks his watch, grins and tosses the shed key to his son, "I'm gonna get going; if I leave now I can grab some donuts for the deputies." He salutes the boys and whistles a jaunty tune as he heads toward his car, ignoring Stiles’ impending tirade with well-practiced ease.

"You know you're just propagating stereotypes! And going directly against doctor’s orders! Make sure you ONLY HAVE ONE! AND NO CREAM FILLED!!" Stiles shouts ever louder after the cruiser as it backs out of the driveway, shaking his left fist. The sheriff just smiles and waves before taking off down the street, leaving the two boys standing in the middle of the yard.

“Well, come on,” Stiles jerks his head toward the house, “let’s get back into the air conditioning while we sort out our busy, busy schedules.”

Turns out neither boy has much planned for the duration of the summer. Stiles brings down a desk calendar that was hanging up on the wall, all the days with LACROSSE clumsily scribbled out with a red sharpie.

“So when can you squeeze us in?”

“Just, whenever’s good for you.” Stiles rolls his eyes and gestures half-heartedly towards the messy calendar.

“Do you _see_ any conflicts? Come on, man, just fill us in where you’re not working on other yards and I’ll be here. Nowhere else to go.” He mutters the last bit, a forlorn look in his eye as he scratches at the _LACROSSE_ on today’s date with the capped tip of his pen. Derek feels a pang of sympathy, the thought of losing the thing that makes you happy, makes you special… it’d be like if he woke up human. He looks up from the calendar to find Stiles giving him an assessing look.

“Mondays and Thursdays,” he spits out, feeling the pressure of Stiles’ stare even as he looks back down at the table, “I can come in at noon, or later, or earlier, I’m flexible.” He hears the huff of a breath, glancing up in time to see Stiles’ eyes jump to the bare wall where the calendar once hung.

“That’s fine. Noon. I should be awake by then.” Derek nods and takes the liberty to jot down his times throughout the next 2 and a half months, before realizing he should have asked how long this arrangement would go on. Maybe Stiles would get his cast off halfway through the summer and he could go back to being lazy in the basement. But Stiles doesn’t say anything, just nods to the spot on the wall, wordlessly asking him to hang it back up.

“I’ll, uh, get started on the lawn.” 

“Yeah. Let me show you where the tools are.” Once again Derek finds himself following Stiles outside and across the lawn, this time heading to the backyard where a small blue shed sits, tucked between a couple of trees. Derek can’t help but notice it’s the same shade as the jeep sitting in the driveway as Stiles struggles to get the key in the lock. “Fuck- just- ah fuck it, you do it.” He presses the key into Derek’s palm before stepping back with a huff, cheeks colored in frustration. Derek hastily undoes the lock, opening the doors wide before moving out of the way. The interior is dusty but organized, more so than Derek was expecting. The lawn mower and weed wacker sit right up front, along with a spare gas tank. The back wall is covered in gardening tools: spades, rakes, gloves, even some unopened bags of dirt sitting underneath. Stiles points out the tools Derek will need, mentions that his dad’ll fill the gas can every week, since Derek doesn’t have a car and Stiles can’t drive the jeep with only one arm, and then heads back toward the house.

“If you need anything,” he shouts without looking back, “just come in and get it. I’ll be upstairs. Don’t bother me.” Derek’s stomach churns as he nods, even though Stiles can’t see it, and starts pulling out the mower.

 

______________________________

There’s three texts and a missed call from Scott by the time Stiles gets back into the house. He looks down at his phone, thumb hovering over the screen before tossing it onto his bed. He knows Scott’s worried, probably offered to drive him to practice, but Stiles just can’t. He already spent two years as a bench warmer, he’s not doing it anymore. Even if he healed exceptionally quick, there was still therapy, months of therapy, before he’d be cleared for sports. 

He fights off tears of frustration before laying himself on the bed, replaying the moment of the break like the finest form of torture. The worst bit was that it was his own damn fault; he couldn’t even blame anyone but himself for ruining his senior year. _He’d_ been acting like a jackass, _he’d_ been showing off, and _he’d_ slipped on the broken branch on the roof of his and Scott’s cabin at lacrosse camp. Finstock had berated him hard, said he was lucky he didn’t break his neck, but by that point Stiles was just too numb to care. Scott had offered to go home with him, ignoring Finstock’s cries of protest, until Stiles gave him a one-armed hug and told him that he couldn’t, cause now he had to play twice as hard for both of them. There were some manly tears shed, and even Jackson looked slightly mournful as his dad’s cruiser pulled away from the camp, leaving his team and dreams of glory behind.

He hears the mower kick on and deliberates for a few seconds before giving in and going to the window. It’s a bit longer before he actually sees Derek, arms taut as he pushes forward, leaving a wake of cut grass behind him. He absently watches him move up and down the yard, noticing the sweat gathering on his gray t-shirt as the sun comes out in full force. Maybe if it gets to be too hot he’ll take it off, and Stiles will finally see what’s been hiding underneath those baggy clothes of his. He’s guessing a little pot-belly to go with his round cheeks, soft and pale, easy to press into. 

He watches for about twenty more minutes, until Derek moves to the backyard, and refuses to make an excuse to be in his dad’s room so he can continue his voyeuristic tendencies. Though, he could dust with his good arm, and his dad would be happy he hadn’t wasted the whole day, and if he just happened to glance out the window from time to time, there was no harm in that-

“Oh my god!” He falls back on the bed, cursing as pain jolts through his arm, refusing to be _that_ pathetic.  
______________________________

 

About halfway through the lawn Derek realizes this isn’t too bad. It’s a little hot, and he’s getting sweaty, but it actually feels kind of nice to be doing something. And it’s not like it’s _hard_ , a little tedious, maybe, but it gives him time to think. His mind wanders to his impending senior year, to the growth spurt his mom promises is just around the corner, to the pretty blonde who works at the diner with Laura, to Stiles shirtless, toothbrush dangling from his mouth, lips curled in a cocky smile. He almost takes the mower up a tree as he tries to shake the image from his mind, startled by its sudden (and vivid) appearance. He stops the mower, lest he destroy anything else, to collect his bearings, and figures it’s as good a time as any to run inside and grab some water.

The air conditioning feels like heaven on his tacky skin, blasting him as soon as he opens the door, which he quickly closes behind him, lest all the precious molecules escape outside. He basks for a few seconds, closing his eyes and breathing deep through his mouth, before heading into the kitchen for some water. He gets about five paces before he hears it… the slick _slap slap slap_ of skin on skin, the sharp intake of breath and soft moans, even the rustling of the sheets pricks his ears, making him blush from head to toe, backing out of the house faster than he’d come in- he hadn’t been that thirsty anyhow. 

He goes to finish the lawn, biting his lip hard every time his thoughts fluttered back to the scene in the house. But it’s not like it’s some huge secret, right? Stiles masturbates, no big deal, it’s a perfectly natural, healthy activity. Derek just happens to now have auditory proof that he does. In the late morning. In his bed. Presumably with his left hand since his right is in a cast. Moaning and jerking with a slightly irregular rhythm, and the right arm resting on his nicely defined chest, maybe rolling a nipple between the thumb and forefing-

“Oh _shit_ ,” Derek looks down, realizing he’s run the mower right into a flower bed. “ _Oh shit_!” He says as he looks down further and finds his shirt speckled with blood from biting clear through his lip. His eyes are probably flashing too, _son of a bitch_. He lets the mower stop, pausing to sit down and just breathe, running a hand through his sweaty hair as he tries to clear his mind. There’s no way he should be getting twitterpated over Stiles Stilinski, of all people. Ever since their middle schools merged Stiles had been kind of a dick toward him; he’d gone from blatantly ignoring to teasing to mild physical harassment. Maybe this was step four of his plan; seduce Derek and then mock him their whole senior year about wanting what he can’t have. It makes his stomach twist until he’s practically dry heaving, standing up and leaning over the front bar of the mower.

“Holy shit, are you okay? Did you get heatstroke?” Derek’s whole body shudders at hearing Stiles’ voice; he hadn’t even noticed him come out the back door. “Dude, you should come in and cool off for a minute, get some water.” Derek’s shaking his head, insisting he’s fine, until he feels a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, just for a minute. I won’t even tell Dad you’re slacking off.” Derek looks up, would probably flush at the wink Stiles shoots at him if he weren’t already beet red, and nods slowly, easing his clenched fingers off of the handle. 

He follows Stiles into the house, breathing through his mouth to avoid getting a whiff of anything that would just serve to destroy him later. Stiles maneuvers around the kitchen, tossing him a Gatorade from the fridge and pulling some cookies from behind the microwave. “Secret stash,” he grins, before pushing the package across the counter. Derek smiles back a little hesitantly, taking two cookies before smoothing the re-sealable flap back in place. He notices Stiles’ eyes looking him up and down, and is about to feel flattered when he says, “Dude, is that blood on your shirt?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” shit, he’d forgotten all about that, “I sometimes get these wicked nosebleeds. No big deal,” he absently wipes under his nose and around his mouth, where any residual blood might actually be, while trying to avoid Stiles’ gaze. 

“Huh. Well, if you need, you can borrow a shirt, just so you don’t have to go home all bloody.” The thought of wearing Stiles’ clothes makes his cheeks burn, so he takes a huge swig of gatorade, which only serves to make him choke. He holds up a hand to keep Stiles from advancing as he leans over and coughs, vaguely wondering when he became such a mess, and if he’d even survive his first day at work. 

“That’s okay,” he gasps out, straightening up once his breathing evens, “I should get back to work, thanks for this, though.” He abandons the half-empty bottle and hurries out the door, leaving the two cookies untouched on the counter.

He finishes around noon, pulling the last weed and wiping the sweat from his brow, surveying the lawn. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean, and that’s what he was hired for. And despite his initial reservations toward work, a feeling of pride at a job well-done blooms in his chest. He cleans up quickly, tossing the bag of weeds into the garbage can on his way to the shed, careful to put everything back where he got them, before snapping the padlock back in place. He’s just about to head inside to wash up when he sees a motorbike pull into the driveway, and fights the urge to dive into the bushes. He really doesn’t want to have to deal with any of Stiles’ lacrosse buddies, not after they’d had a pretty decent morning together. 

The rider kicks down the stand and pulls of his helmet, revealing dark, shaggy hair, a crooked jawline, and Derek’s panic eases a little. Scott McCall’s always been more than decent to him, and even now smiles and waves when he sees him standing awkwardly in the shade of the garage.

“Hey Derek! Keeping Stiles company? How’s he holding up?”

“Oh, I’m not- I’m just here to mow,” he jerks his head towards the backyard, not wanting to give any notion that Stiles might have _wanted_ him here. Scott nods, smile fading just the smallest bit.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense, since Stiles can’t. Summer job?”

“Yeah, kinda.” 

Scott raises an eyebrow, “Kinda?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but so far it’s just these guys, so…”

“Oh, gotcha. Want me to spread the word?” Derek can’t help but look at Scott and wonder how someone gets so _good_ and still survives high school.

“Nah, I’ve got flyers posted around. I’m sure someone else’ll break their arm and need me.” Scott smirks at that, shuffling his feet a little as he looks toward the house, smile growing bigger.

“Well hey, looks like you’re done for now, you wanna hang out? I’m sure Stiles would appreciate the extra company.” His face looks entirely sincere, and Derek _wants_ to believe him, but there’s a gnawing in his stomach that just doesn’t trust that Stiles would actually want him around.

“That’s okay, don’t want to impose. Plus I stink pretty bad, so I should probably just head home.” He makes for his bike, even though he’d intended to go inside and clean up, maybe grab a drink of water and let Stiles know he’d finished, but now feels like he’d be intruding if he did. 

“Maybe another time?” Scott asks, taking a few more steps towards the door. Derek nods noncommittally, hoisting himself onto his bike.

“Sure, later,” he quickly pedals away, feeling like an idiot as he passes Scott’s dirt bike; a proper vehicle for someone going into their senior year of high school. Maybe he should try to get a few more lawns, save up and buy himself something better than the ten-speed he’s had since seventh grade.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t realize how fast he’s pedaling, zipping through the thankfully empty streets of the suburb before hitting the preserve trails. His mom would kill him if she knew he was speeding around unchecked. He consciously slows down to a more human speed, keeping his thoughts on safe subjects, like the flower bed he ruined. Well, not so much ruined as mussed up a little, there hadn’t been but a few flowers in it, probably perennials that grow every year on their own, and he’d only taken out one or two. But still, maybe the sheriff would appreciate if he replaced them. Or at least planted some more. There was that whole back section of the shed full of gardening supplies, there had to be some seeds in there. He’d check on Thursday.

______________________________

“Oh hey, I thought you might- you’re not Derek.” 

“No I am not. But this looks great, he would have really liked it.” Stiles feels his cheeks flame up as Scott grins knowingly, nodding toward the plate bedecked with a sloppily made sandwich, chips, and the two cookies Derek had left on the counter. 

“Fuck, man, I don’t know what I’m doing,” Stiles throws his good hand over his face, muffling his words.

“Looks like you know exactly what you’re doing; trying to woo the strapping groundskeeper as you fan yourself from the veranda.” Scott laughs, easily dodging the chip Stiles throws at him. Fucking left-arm aim.

“Did you see him out there?”

“Yeah, and I saw him get on his bike and ride away,” Scott gives him a sympathetic frown, “Sorry man, I tried to invite him in, but he looked kinda skittish, like approaching a stray.”

“You gotta stop comparing people to the animals at the clinic,” Stiles grabs up the plate and passes it over, “Here, might as well not let it go to waste.” Scott happily accepts and follows Stiles to the living room, flopping down on the couch before digging in. Stiles takes the easy chair and watches Scott wolf down half the sandwich in two bites, wondering if Derek would have eaten it with such enthusiasm, if Derek would have eaten it at all. It stings a little that he left without coming in again, though there’s not really any reason he’d need to, besides washing up and letting Stiles know he was done. 

Scott licks his fingers clean before he starts in on what Stiles missed at practice. Apparently Jackson gave Greenberg a concussion, Danny’s taken to mentoring a couple of the newbies after they bonded at camp, and Coach actually shouted for Stiles three times.

“The third time I thought he was going to cry when he realized you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, well, he better get used to it,” Stiles waves the cast in the air, as though Scott could have forgotten.

“Dude, you’re still on the team! And the season doesn’t even start for like, six months; Coach is just nuts and makes us practice all year long.”

“Exactly, I can’t practice with you guys, so what chance do I have of actually starting this year? Nada. Even the newbies are gonna be better than me by the time I get this off.”

Scott sighs, taking his empty plate to the kitchen and returning with two cokes. He pops the tab and hands one to Stiles before taking his seat again. “I know it’s not your ideal situation, but we need you, man, on or off the field. You’re important to the team.” Stiles snorts, getting a little carbonation up his nose that hurts like a motherfucker. “Just, think about it. Coach says you can miss four more practices before being kicked off.” Stiles takes a long drink instead of answering, the bubbles burning his throat as he sucks down half the can in one go. Scott takes the hint, enjoying his own beverage for a minute before getting a wicked grin on his face.

“So... how’d you con your dad into hiring your crush as your lawn boy?” 

______________________________

Derek’s surprised to find himself looking at the clock all Thursday morning, wondering how early is too early for him to get to the Stilinski’s. With Laura and his parents at work and Cora at summer camp he’s got the house all to himself, which turns out to be way more boring than he’d anticipated. By Wednesday he was practically climbing the walls.

Finally the clock hits 11:15 and he figures if he rides his bike like a normal human that should get him at the house around 11:40, which should be just early enough without seeming too eager. 

He pulls up to the house at 11:30, silently cursing to himself as he walks his bike up the driveway - lest he over-enthusiastically slam into the garage - setting it up in the shade of the overhang before heading to the front door. He rings the bell, and is once again greeted with a shirtless Stiles, this time with a sandwich hanging out of his mouth.

“Do you always answer the door half-dressed?” Derek can’t help but ask, tearing his eyes away from the bared chest in front of him. 

“Do you always show up 30 minutes early?”

“If this is the consequence…” the words are out before he even realizes it, and he feels his ears prick with heat, “uh, so I was wondering, I saw gardening stuff in the back, and we hadn’t really talked about planting anything new but-”

“It was my mom’s.” Stiles cuts in, still standing in the doorway, sandwich in his good hand.

“Oh, okay, nevermind then,” Derek makes to turn around, feeling like an over-presumptive idiot, when he feels something on his shoulder. He looks over to see a ham and cheese clutched between the long fingers holding him in place.

“That’s not- it’s just that we’ve never really done anything with it since… so I don’t know if they’d be any good. Do seeds go bad? Dirt?” Derek shrugs, the sandwich rising and falling with his shoulders, just before Stiles pulls his hand back. “I can ask Dad if we can get more, if you wanted.”

“It’s your yard, I just thought, you’ve got the flower beds. It might be nice.”

“It was.” Stiles breathes out, eyes a little lost as he looks out into the yard. He blinks a few times before focusing on Derek again, “let me get you the key. I think Dad was hoping you could edge the driveway today, that okay?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Stiles actually smiles before stepping back inside, leaving the door open. Derek’s about to close it to help preserve the air conditioning when Stiles comes back, key in one hand, bottle of water in the other.

“Here, but, don’t feel like you can’t come in for more. Like, this isn’t to keep you out… I’m just gonna go,” Stiles pushes the bottle toward Derek, key dangling between two fingers from his casted arm. Derek literally can’t help but brush their fingers together as he retrieves it, surprised by the little jolt he feels as they touch. 

“Thanks,” he stammers a little, taking a step back, “I’ll go get started.”

It’s a little warmer today, leaving Derek’s tee shirt rimmed with sweat as he hops on and off the square-point shovel, leaving a clean edge around the driveway, foot by foot. He can’t help but glance up to the second story windows every so often, wondering which one belongs to Stiles, what he was doing to pass the time. If maybe he was doing the same thing Derek had accidentally walked in on him doing on Monday. His cheeks burn as he pushes himself to go faster, allowing his werewolf strength and speed to seep through a little, just enough to let him finish the left side and slug down his water, giving him an excuse to run into the house to use the bathroom. 

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, or even hoping for, when he opens the door, but a still shirtless Stiles laying out on the kitchen table is not it. Stiles jerks up at the sound, eyes wide as he looks over at Derek, still hovering in the doorway, hand on the knob.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Derek backtracks, vowing to never set foot in the Stilinski house again. He’s about to click the door shut when it’s hauled open, Stiles on the other side, panting. Derek flinches, readying himself for a ribbing or a scolding or a beatdown, though to be fair the most violent Stiles had ever gotten was knocking their shoulders together in the hallway. Still, one never knows how another might act in a different environment, devoid of witnesses.

“I… wasn’t…” Stiles wheezes out, still trying to catch his breath. Derek looks past his doubled-over frame to the table, not twenty feet away, and lets out a dry laugh.

“You just ran from the kitchen… how out of shape are you?” Stiles looks up with a scowl, glancing over his shoulder to gauge the distance, and looks back at Derek with a sheepish grin.

“Uh, very? I kinda haven’t done much, since…” he lifts his cast in lieu of words. There’s a moment of awkward quiet before he continues, “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that you can come in, I wasn’t doing anything weird or anything.” 

“Just lying shirtless on your kitchen table…” Derek mumbles, but follows Stiles’ retreating form back into the house despite the vow he made not two minutes ago. Stiles leads him to the fridge where he immediately starts pouring out a couple glasses of lemonade. He flicks his eyes toward the second glass as he brings his own to his lips. Derek takes it and slugs half of it down in one pull, excited to find it was made from real lemons and not Country Time. He looks up to find Stiles fixated on his throat before hastily looking elsewhere. 

“So…” Stiles starts, tapping his distractingly long fingers against the glass, “how many other lawns have you worked on?” Derek chokes a little on the swig he’d just taken.

“Just - _haaack_ \- just this one,” he wheezes out, thumping his chest as he continues to cough up the lemonade. Stiles’ face is somewhere between anxious and amused as he hovers in front of him.

“Dude, do you have a drinking problem or something?” He asks as he moves around and sets a hand between his shoulder blades. It’s like Derek can feel the press of each finger individually, every curve of his palm as the touch sears into his skin through his still-damp tee shirt. He takes a shuddery breath before straightening his back, letting the hand fall, the feel of fingers trailing down his spine causing him to shiver. Oh god, this is not okay. This is two towns over from okay. 

“I should get back out there,” he says quickly, abandoning his lemonade and making for the door.

“Why do you always do that?” The words are muttered, barely audible even to Derek’s ears, but he can’t help stopping and turning toward the voice. Stiles gives him a surprised look, clearly not expecting to be heard, his cheeks coloring a little. 

“Do what?” He can hear Stiles’ heart pick up, but on the outside the boy remains cool.

“Run away,” he wets his lips, “Do you hate being around me that much?” Derek’s eyes are still on Stiles’ lips before darting up to look at his face. There’s no sense of joking now, and Derek feels the knot in his stomach grow tighter.

“I- no, I don’t- that’s not why…” he stammers over his words, knowing he’ll never be able to explain why, what Stiles does to him. Initially he’d been afraid of being teased mercilessly all summer, but this, this is so much worse. He takes a breath and meets Stiles’ eyes, “I’m here to do a job. So I’m gonna go do it.” He turns and takes a few steps towards the door before stopping, sensing the disappointment rolling off of Stiles, “But I don’t hate you,” he bolsters up his courage and turns his head just a bit over his shoulder, “not even a little.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> 1 - Sooooo sorry this took so much longer to get out than I had anticipated. There was comic con and no internet and family and work and it's all just a rich tapestry. 
> 
> 2 - I had planned on just doing the two chapters, but looks like it'll take a bit more than that to finish this tale. three, maybe four tops. 
> 
> 3 - I have never had a broken arm (or leg, or any bone), so please forgive any inaccuracies in that regard. I'm googling with the best of them.
> 
> 4 - The goal is to get this completely done by the end of summer, I'm hoping by last weekend in August.

The next week goes by a bit smoother. On Monday Derek is presented with some pallets of flowers, spindly plants, and fresh dirt by a grinning sheriff. Scott comes by and helps him decide how they should be planted for optimum aesthetic value before trying to harass him into hanging out with him and Stiles. Derek declines, but does go in to wash the dirt off his hands and arms before riding his bike back home. 

On Thursday he’s given another lawn to tend; Mrs. Claris, the Stilinski’s elderly neighbor, cornered him by the shed with cookies and compliments and there was no way he could say no. Which finds him next door to the Stilinski’s on Friday morning, sweating in the early sun as he digs up an old stump. Even with his teenage werewolf strength it’s a bitch to get out. 

After about an hour of pulling weeds he takes a break in the shade of the Stilinski’s shed, resting his back against the chipping paint as he sucks down the water bottle Mrs. Claris had given him. He shoots a look at the house, idly wondering if Stiles is inside. Just as he’s about to stand up and get back to work he hears Scott rumble up the driveway. Derek leans into the shed a little more, keeping out of sight as the boy hops off and strides up to the house. And while he knows he’s not supposed to eavesdrop on people’s conversations (his mother read him “[Excellent Manners Wolf](http://goodinthestacks.com/post/77211309183/kaseybriannewilliams-excellent-manners-wolf)” every night when he was a kid, thus the lessons have been forever ingrained in his brain), he really can’t help but pick up on a few of the more heatedly shared phrases. Or, you know, every single word as he strains his focus toward the house. 

“ _Dude, you’ve only got two more practices! Coach is serious!_ ”

“ _So am I! I can’t play with this fuckin’ thing on my arm!_ ”

“ _It’s not gonna be on there forever! The season’s not for six months! Even if you don’t start right away_ -”

“ _I’m_ done _sitting on the bench, okay. I’d rather spend my time doing something else._ ”

“ _You know I’d back you, man, but you_ haven’t done anything else! _All you do is mope around the house all day sneaking looks at Derek._ ” He jolts at hearing his own name, simultaneously tucking his knees up to his chest and leaning his head closer to the house.

“ _Don’t shove that in my face too, I’m dealing with enough misery._ " Derek feels the bottom drop out of his stomach; he’d thought he and Stiles were genuinely getting along these days. Derek was careful not to gawk when Stiles opened up the door shirtless _again_ , and Stiles had made the effort to come outside and bring Derek water and a bag of peanut butter m&ms. It was a far cry from friendship, but it had all been congenial enough for him. He’s so wrapped up in his own hurt feelings that he misses the next leg of conversation, only catching the tail end of Scott’s exasperated sigh.

“- _regret your senior year._ ”

“ _I’m starting to regret letting you into my house._ ”

“ _Okay man, I’m going. Just, think about it. I’ll see you tonight._ ”

“ _Yeah okay._ ” There’s a couple of thumps, probably a bro-grab, and then the sound of the door swinging shut as Scott jogs up to his dirtbike. Derek hugs the shed wall a little tighter as he hears the engine thrum to life and then fade out into the distance. It’s another three minutes before he actually finds the will to stand up and get back to work, his stomach a jumble of knots. He has to replant a petunia three times before viciously shaking his head in an attempt to push out the conversation he’d overheard. He has a job to do; Mrs. Claris doesn’t deserve a shoddy garden just because he can’t handle someone who’s never liked him still not liking him. Stupid. 

He’s redistributing dirt on the last petunia in the front yard when he hears commotion from the neighboring house again; front door slamming as Stiles heads out, looking for all the world like he’s about to go for a run. After a cursory glance Derek resolutely focuses on the plants in front of him, smoothing out the dirt before methodically cleaning up the sparse tools he’d used, trying to avoid drawing any attention to himself. The last thing he needs is for Stiles to think he’s stalking him in any way. Maybe if he keeps his face turned, he won’t even know it’s him.

“Yo! Derek!” So much for that theory. Derek turns and squints up into the late noon sun to see Stiles wandering over to him, relieved and confused at the grin on his face. “What the hell are you doing over here?”

“Mrs. Claris, she hired me to work on her yard.” Derek jerks his thumb toward the house, as though Stiles doesn’t know where his neighbor lives. The other boy nods, pursing his lips a little as he turns to look out at the street. Derek chews on his lip a moment before pushing forward in conversation, “Were you headed somewhere?” Stiles jerks a little, looking down at his cast before focusing on Derek still squatting in front of him, absentmindedly twirling a gardening spade between his fingers.

“I, uh- no, no not really.” Derek raises an eyebrow and gives him a quick once-over, unintentionally focusing on the messily tied shoelaces. He’d yet to see Stiles wear anything besides his sandals this summer, and with good cause. It must have taken him ages to get his socks and shoes on and tied. “Okay, I may have been thinking about going for a run, but- it’s stupid.”

“Why?” Derek’s eyes flit up to look at Stiles’ face, haloed in light as he blocks the sun from Derek’s crouching form. 

“Why go for a run or why is it stupid?”

“Stupid.” Stiles shrugs, shuffling his feet a little before answering.

“I tried to, earlier, thinking that if I couldn’t keep up my arms I could keep up my legs. But after the first few days my knee started giving me problems, so I just quit.” He runs a hand through his hair, spiking it a little with sweat. Derek considers the boy in front of him before standing up, relishing the stretch in his calves after crouching for so long, and taking the casted arm into his free hand. He focuses on the heft of it as he moves it up and down, bouncing it a little off the tips of his fingers. 

“Umm, what are you-”

“About two pounds.”

“What?”

“Your cast,” he looks up in time to see the tips of Stiles’ ears blaze pink, though it could have just been a trick of the light, “it weighs about two pounds, so it’s throwing you off. That’s why your knee hurt after that first week. You’re unbalanced.” Stiles furrows his brows, first at the offending cast, and then at Derek.

“How do you know all this?” 

“It’s basic physics,” he can’t help the smirk that breaks through, “and my aunt’s a physical therapist.” Stiles scowls a little, but the corner of his mouth turns up, belying his frustration.

“So, Dr. Hale, what should I do?” Derek fights off the blush as he thinks on it, mentally going through various household items that could be used to even him out. 

“Do you have bags of dried beans?” 

“Uh, maybe? Probably? We can- are you done here?”

“Yeah, I was just about to-”

“[Przemysław!](http://www.forvo.com/word/przemys%C5%82aw/)” Derek’s about to shout back _Bless you!_ when Stiles whips his head around, a look of horror in his eyes, and Derek realizes the onslaught of syllables might possibly be Stiles’ real name. Mrs. Claris is on her front steps, sly smile on her wizened face, “Are you trying to steal my handsome gardner?” 

“You stole him from me first!” Stiles calls back, grinning playfully as he wraps his good arm around Derek’s shoulders. “Just taking back what’s mine.”

“What’s yours?” Derek asks, eyebrow raised even as his heart thumps viciously in his chest.

“Just go with it,” Stiles whispers directly into his ear, and Derek literally can’t help the full body shudder that follows. It’s not his fault his ears are incredibly sensitive and apparently hotwired to his dick. There’s no way Stiles missed the reaction either, as he quickly drops his arm and takes a step to the right. Derek grips the spade a little tighter before looking up at Mrs. Claris, who’s smiling broadly.

“Okay, you boys go have fun. Good work today, Derek.”

“Thanks ma’am, I’ll just put these away,” Derek raises the hand holding the spade, motioning toward the garage. Mrs. Claris nods, eyes twinkling.

“Such a good boy,” she murmurs before shuffling back inside, making Derek’s cheeks burn as he crouches down to scoop up the rest of the errant tools. His hand brushes against Stiles’ as they both reach for the tiny rake at the same time. Derek pulls back quickly, allowing Stiles to grab the tool as he carries his lot back to the closed-up garage. He takes a little extra time rearranging the gardening space until Stiles comes up behind him, gently setting the little rake between the spade and the weird screwdriver looking thing. 

“I didn’t mean to force you to hang out with me,” Stiles says quietly as he withdraws his hand, making Derek look over at him in surprise. 

“What?” The darkness of the garage makes it harder to see without flashing his eyes, but he can still make out Stiles’ hunched over form.

“You can go home if you want, I didn’t mean-”

“No I heard you, I just, do you not want me here?” Derek feels like he’s getting whiplash; not an hour ago he’d overheard Stiles saying having Derek around was making him miserable, and now he wanted to hang out, but didn’t want to force Derek into it? And he’d been lead to believe girls were the confusing ones…

“It’s better than being alone all the time,” Stiles admits, wry grin partially hidden in the dark of the garage, “plus, I could use your help in finding my balance again,” he poorly mimics the yoga stance for ‘tree’, wobbling on one leg as he presses his right foot into his left calf, palms awkwardly pressed together in front of him. Derek lets out a light huff of a laugh seconds before he finds his arms wrapped around Stiles’ obnoxiously narrow waist, steadying him from his near topple into the lawn mower.

“See,” Stiles pants, so close Derek can feel the warm puffs of air on his lips, “I need to keep you around. For safety.” 

“You’re just a walking hazard to yourself,” he mutters back, hands still on his waist, their mouths just inches apart. If he thought for a second Stiles might- it’d be so easy to lean in just that little bit- but no, there was no way. _Misery_ , he’d said, and Derek drops his hands as the overheard conversation floats back into his brain. “C’mon,” he steps away, motioning his head at the door before walking towards it. The sunlight hits him like a ton of bricks, making the brief moment in the garage all the more surreal. Stiles follows and quickly overtakes, leading him into the house as usual. They head to the kitchen where Stiles immediately starts rifling one-handed through the pantry while Derek helps himself to a glass of water.

“Will this work?” Stiles holds out a bag of dried garbanzo beans. Derek sets down his glass and measures the weight of the bag in one hand, trying to compare it to the weight of the cast.

“Do you have one more?”

“Split-pea okay?” Derek rolls his eyes as he snatches the bag out of Stiles’ hand. 

“Rubber bands or tape?”

“Uhhh…” Stiles shuffles through what appears to be a junk drawer before brandishing three large rubber bands. 

“Okay, let’s try this out,” he places a bag on either side of Stiles’ left forearm, holding the bottom one steady with his knee before securing them with the rubber bands. “How do you feel?” 

“Like an idiot,” Stiles waves his arms around, rolling his shoulders a bit before jogging in place, “but… balanced.”

“Great, looks like my work is-”

“Oh no, you’re coming with me.”

“How’s that again?”

“C’mon man, what if a rubber band breaks? What if a bear gets wind that I’m packing food? I need some backup out there. Just once or twice around the block.”

Derek groans, inwardly and outwardly. He’d never been one of those ‘exercise for fun’ guys, and loathed running unless it was a full moon and he was with his pack. Even then he was the slowest of the bunch and often teased for it. But on the other hand, Stiles. 

“ _Fine_.” 

______________________________

 

They’re about to take off when Derek stops them. It’s his third stall in five minutes, and Stiles is just about to call the whole thing off when Derek sinks to his knees in front of him. Within the next three seconds a series of events happen: Stiles’ heart starts jackhammering so hard he thinks he might go into cardiac arrest, he nearly draws blood as he bites the meat of his palm to keep the unintelligible moaning to a minimum, and he feels the unmistakable pull of his shoelaces being undone. The moan turns into a light groan of disappointment as Derek tugs the laces tight, double-knotting before moving to the next shoe. 

“There,” he says before standing up again, dusting off his knees, “don’t need you breaking anything else while we’re out there.”

“Mmhmm,” Stiles doesn’t quite trust his ability to speak yet, mind still swimming with the image of Derek on his knees, looking up at him with those crazy green-blue-brown-hazel eyes, lips just barely parted-

“-Stiles?”

“Right, let’s go. Once around the block, then we can see how we feel. Oh, and since you double-knotted,” he throws out his cockiest grin, “you get to untie them, too.” 

______________________________

Derek keeps up with Stiles easily, as even the slowest werewolf can outrun a human, and is surprised to find how much more enjoyable this is than running with Laura or the people in his gym class. Laura teased him too much, and running for school was just stupid. But this, this is nice, even though they don’t talk at all. Stiles keeps an easy pace, shooting looks over every so often. Derek makes sure not to exceed what someone his age and size should theoretically be able to do. His aunt had worked with him and his siblings and cousins on how to hold back when they needed to, blend in with the rest of society when it came to running and jumping and various feats of strength. 

They’re rounding the bend on their third lap when Derek notices Stiles’ breathing hitching a bit, stride becoming more erratic. He hasn’t said a word about being tired or stopping, and Derek guesses he never will, so he takes it upon himself. He slows his pace, grabbing his side as though he were getting cramps, and lets out a slightly embarrassing whimper for good measure.

“Whoa, you okay man?” Stiles pants out, slowing down and turning to keep his eye on Derek, who is hamming it up like his aunt taught him.

“Yeah… just… hurts,” he grimaces a little, hand still on his side, until Stiles slows to a walk.

“I guess… we can… just walk,” he puts his arms over his head, breathing deep before continuing, “my house is just around the corner.” Derek nods, more than happy to follow at the leisurely pace, mimicking Stiles’ stance. The sun is blazing above them, contributing to the sweat beading down Stiles’ neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt. Derek’s frankly surprised Stiles bothered with a shirt at all.

“So,” he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, relishing the feeling of the air filling his lungs, the smell of summer all around him, the spicy scent of Stiles’ sweat…

“So?” Oh right, he’d been talking.

“So that wasn’t so bad.” He lets his arms drop and leans his face into the sun, “I still like swimming more.” The sound of Stiles tripping brings his head forward again, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles turns, cheeks pink, and Derek files away the helpful reminder that humans need sunscreen before running around outside, “I just- there was a rock. You swim?”

“Used to.” He’d competed in jr. high, and had thought about going for the high school team, but a year of being semi-tormented by jocks and his surprisingly slow-acting puberty put that dream to rest. He didn’t mind so much; Laura had always been the more competitive one, whereas he was pretty content to lay low, sneaking under the radar for the most part. 

“Huh, that’s…” they’re at the door now, both sighing at the first blast of air conditioning. Stiles is barely two steps in before he’s tugging off his shirt, mopping his face with the few dry spots before tossing it in the direction of the laundry room. For a brief and terrifying moment Derek thinks about snatching it up, wondering if Stiles would notice it was missing. It’s a nondescript gray t-shirt, the kind that come five in a pack. It’d take at least a week for him to realize it wasn’t- the sound of the fridge opening makes Derek snap his head forward, away from the alluring article of clothing, fighting down the blush creeping up his neck. 

“Thanks,” he croaks out as Stiles hands him a Gatorade, cracking the lid and slugging down a good third of it within seconds. He’s careful not to choke this time, and manages to get through the entire bottle without coughing once. A proud moment for him. 

“Hungry?” Stiles asks, already halfway into the freezer. It’s only once he says the word that Derek realizes how long it’s been since he ate last, hunger gnawing at his insides.

“I could eat,” he tries to play it cool, so of course that’s the moment his stomach lets out an embarrassing rumble. Stiles must have heard it, as he lets out a huff of laughter before emerging with a bag of pizza rolls. Derek watches as Stiles fumbles about the kitchen, pulling out a plate, opening drawer after drawer until he sighs and starts chewing at the plastic bag.

“Uh, do you want some help?”

“I got it,” Stiles insists while staring murderously at the barrier keeping him from his frozen treats.

“Seriously, just let me-” Derek steps forward, hesitant to crowd into Stiles’ space. Even though they had a run together, he still wasn’t sure where they stood. Stiles sighs and hands the bag over to him, grumbling about his ‘stupid arm’ and ‘stupid scissors’ and ‘decoupage’. He feigns a few weak attempts before giving a controlled tug, splitting the top wide open. Stiles gives him an assessing look before holding out the plate, letting Derek take over the preparation. Five minutes later they’re both sacked out on the couch, shared plate on the cushion between them. Stiles gingerly picks up a still hot pizza roll, blowing on it several times before taking a tentative bite, while Derek unthinkingly pops the whole thing into his mouth, cringing at the searing burn before swallowing it down, mouth already healing as he grabs another. 

“Holy shit, how’d you do that?” He turns to see Stiles gaping at him, half-bitten pizza roll still steaming in his hand. Derek panics for a second before blurting out the first excuse that came to mind.

“Frozen.”

“What?”

“Mine. Was frozen still. You know, how stuff from the microwave is either still cold inside or boiling lava hot.” Stiles nods slowly, eyes still narrowed like he doesn’t quite believe him as he blows on the other half of his roll before eating it. 

Derek’s more careful from then on, making a show of blowing and “ahhing” about a burned tongue until Stiles is able to eat them without any precursive actions. They both reach for the last one at the same time, fingers brushing against each other. Derek’s heart thumps at the contact, a little surprised that neither boy pulled away lightning quick.

“You can have it,” he insists, moving his hand to the edge of the plate.

“Nah man, you’re the guest, it’s all yours.” Stiles nudges the roll toward him with his pointer finger, sliding it across the plate. It leaves a delightfully greasy trail that his mother would gag at, so he’s not about to waste the opportunity. He pops it into his mouth, sighing a little, relishing the taste of processed meat, cheese, and chemicals, knowing full well it might be the last time he’ll be able to indulge like this. 

“Wow, you, uh, really like pizza rolls, huh?” Derek cracks an eye to find Stiles staring at him, cheeks still pink. 

“My mom refuses to buy stuff like that. It’s all organic and whole foods, though I think Dad has a stash of Little Debbies somewhere; I’ve been trying to sniff them out.” He realizes his blunder a little too late, but Stiles is just nodding along like it’s totally normal. 

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to get my dad eating better, but truth is neither of us can cook, so the default is frozen dinners,” he lets out a huff, “not the best for you, but…” Derek feels something in his chest clench at that, like he wants to fix it but doesn’t know how.

“Want to have dinner at my house?” The words are out before his brain can process what he’s saying, and it’s all he can do to not slither to the floor and die. There has to be a rule somewhere that high school seniors don’t randomly invite other high school seniors - that they aren’t even sure can be classified as a _friend_ \- to dinner with their _family_. He has no idea how to backtrack from this.

“Oh, uh, I actually have - Scott’s making me go out tonight, but, maybe later?” Derek’s not one hundred percent, as they don’t start training adolescent werewolves about sensing feelings until they’re 19 (and Excellent Manners Wolf says it’s incredibly rude to do so anyway), but he’s _pretty_ sure Stiles is exuding some hope. Hope that later’s fine or that Derek will forget he ever asked, he’s not sure, but against all odds he’s going with the former.

“Yeah, no problem. Should probably give Mom a heads up, anyway,” he cranes his head back to check out the clock on the mantel, “s’already 4. I better get back,” he smirks a little, “It’s my turn to start dinner.” He grabs the plate and takes it back to the kitchen, giving it a quick wash before setting it on the drying rack. Stiles walks in as he’s drying his hands, eyes flitting between the plate and Derek, bewildered look on his face.

“You’re kinda-”

“I know I’m a huge dork, but,” he lets out a breath, “I’m actually okay with that.”

“Heh, huge dork butt.” Derek thins his lips, suppresses the eyeroll to end all eyerolls, and heads to the door.

“Yeah. See you Monday.” He doesn’t wait for a response.

______________________________

Scott finds Stiles face down in his bed, shirtless, with his running shoes still on.

“Dude, come on. You promised you’d come out with us!”

“I’m not fit for social interactions,” Stiles mumbles into his pillow, trying to burrow deeper before feeling Scott’s hand on his bare shoulder and the bed dipping with the additional weight.

“Okay, what happened?” 

“Hergedorfbut.”

“What?” Stiles groans and turns his head.

“I was trying to tell him he’s perfect, when he cuts in and says he’s a huge dork, but-”

“Heh, huge dork butt.”

“Exactly!!” Stiles pushes up on his good arm, awkwardly getting into a sitting position, “so he’s like, opening up to me, and all I can say is ‘huge dork butt’, and before I can do anything else he’s out the door.” Scott nods sympathetically, though he’s still trying to fight down the smile from _huge dork butt_. 

“C’mon, let’s get you changed, we promised Allison and Lydia we’d meet them at the restaurant.”

“I believe that was _your_ promise,” Stiles grumbles, but dutifully attempts to kick off his running shoes. After four tries he whines and raises a foot up to Scott, “Help?”

“What the hell, man?” He grabs the shoe out of the air, moving it around, making Stiles move with him, “why’d you tie them so tight?”

“You think I could do that with these?” He wiggles the fingers poking out of the cast awkwardly.

“Then…” he pauses, eyes getting bigger, “Derek? Dude!” He gives the knot another look, face radiating glee, “Double knots, even. He must want to keep you.”

“Just shut up and take them off!”

“Name of your sex tape,” Scott laughs, but complies, fighting the tight laces and freeing Stiles’ foot. It’s a labor, but they get him dressed for the ‘platonic group date’ Scott’s forced onto him. 

The evening goes by pleasantly enough, Lydia and Allison telling them about France, Scott talking about lacrosse, Stiles regaling the tale of his ‘epic fuck-up’. Lydia not so subtly digs for information on Jackson; they’d broken up a month before the end of school, and there was a betting pool on when they’d get back together. Stiles guessed early October, just in time for Homecoming.

“So, nothing else going on?” Lydia asks after her Jackson inquiries come up dry. Stiles looks up from his dessert to find three pairs of eyes on him.

“What?”

“There’s nothing else you want to share with the group? Nothing, oh I don’t know, _interesting_ going on in your life?” Stiles starts to panic a little. She couldn’t be talking about Derek, no one knew about him besides Scott, and he was way too good of a bro to be waving Stiles’ dirty laundry around.

“I, uh, really don’t know what you’re talking about?” His eyes dart to Scott, who looks just as panicked and confused as Stiles. Lydia rolls her eyes.

“I’m talking about your summer fling? Janika told me about _someone_ coming over to your house all the time, and he always leaves with messed up hair. So,” she takes a sip of her soda before pursing her lips, “anything you’d like to share with us?”

He wants to laugh and cry, since it’s truth and fantasy all wrapped up in a neat, little package. “That’s just the guy my dad hired to do the lawn, Derek Hale.” Allison’s eyes light up, but Lydia’s brows furrow the slightest bit, as though trying to put a face with the name.

“She said you went jogging today.”

“Does she have surveillance on my house? Yes, we jogged. I needed someone to help me tie my shoes like a fuckin toddler and he decided to come with me. That interesting enough for you?” Lydia sighs and leans back into the booth.

“I should have just stayed in Paris. Nothing happens in Beacon Hills.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Labor Day!
> 
> **If you've read this before the ending has been drastically changed to accommodate for Ch. 4**

After the fifth consecutive episode of _Downton Abbey_ Laura gets up and shuts off the TV.

“Hey, I was watching that!”

“I know, that’s why I turned it off. C’mon,” she pulls at his arm, tugging him up off the couch. He doesn’t put up much of a fight, allowing his sister to corral him up the stairs and out the back door. He blinks and squints, unused to the natural light after six hours in the basement. 

“What’re we doing?”

“Running,” she pulls her long, dark hair into a ponytail before pulling off her t-shirt, leaving her in shorts and a sports bra. Derek groans, turning to go back inside before Laura catches his elbow.

“C’mon, you’ll run for _Stilinski_ but not your big sister?” And he’s not surprised, really, nothing stays buried in Beacon Hills, and it’s not like they were keeping a low profile, running around a populated neighborhood. But still, he wouldn’t have minded to keep that moment between him and Stiles. With a wry twist to his mouth he strips out of his own t-shirt, and can see Laura visibly holding back from poking at his stomach.

“Looking good, Der.”

“Yeah yeah, can we just do this,” he resists the urge to cross his arms in front of him and instead rolls his head around his neck, loosening up his limbs as Laura bites back a grin and follows suit. Neither are wearing shoes, but when it comes to running in the preserve they prefer to feel the earth under their toes, and with their blood pumping steadily any cuts or scrapes heal before they’re properly felt. 

“Let’s go,” she flashes a fanged grin at him before tearing through the yard, heading into the densest part of the preserve, where they’re least likely to run into joggers or idiot kids looking for a bit of fun. Derek’s on her heels in an instant, breathing in the warm afternoon air as he follows her lead, dodging branches and fallen trees with ease. The path grows familiar, and he can’t help the grin as Laura puts on a burst of speed, launching herself from the low level cliff and diving neatly into the lake below. Derek cuts to the right a little, pushing off the edge with strength of his legs, tucking up his knees to perform an impressive cannonball. 

“You shit!” Laura gasps once he resurfaces, water streaming down both their faces. 

“What, it’s not like you weren’t wet.” Laura jumps onto his back, forcing his head underwater. It quickly turns into a wrestling match, two wolves fighting for faux dominance in their childhood playground. Laura’s stronger, but Derek’s the better swimmer, and after a while both are panting and grinning as the fighting wanes down, with no clear winner. Laura releases her hold around Derek’s neck, launching herself back to swim quietly for a few minutes, soaking in the sun and the sounds of the preserve. It’s a stark contrast to the thrashing and peals of laughter from just a moment ago. Derek silently slithers up next to her, causing barely a ripple as he cuts through the water.

“This was a good idea.”

“I know, right? When will you realize all my ideas are good?” Laura cracks an eye open just a bit, side-eyeing her brother as he paddles around her floating form. “So, you gonna tell my why you’re moping?”

“I’m not,” he should have sensed that this was all a ploy to get him talking. 

“Eight hours of _Downton Abbey_ , Der.”

“It was five.”

“You got to the Christmas episode. It was eight.” Derek pouts for a minute, subconsciously swimming away from Laura.

“It’s a good show.”

“C’mon, just level with me. Did something happen between you and Stiles?” Derek bristles at the name drop, swimming over to the shore. His silence is answer enough, prompting Laura to follow him out of the lake and onto a grassy embankment. He spreads out, letting the sun dry his skin, closing his eyes against the brightness. It’s another few seconds before he feels Laura’s wet hair resting against his stomach. “Well if he’s being a dick, I’m happy to go beat him up for you.” She awkwardly pats at his arm, blindly overreaching and poking his jaw. He splutters at her fingers before letting out a sigh.

“It’s not that, it’s just,” he pauses, partially annoyed that Laura got him to talk, and partially relieved that he has somebody to talk to, “every time I think we’re close to becoming friends, he says something that makes me remember that that’s never going to happen.”

“And that’s what you want?” Laura cranes her neck up, trying to meet his eye, “To be friends?” Derek shrugs.

“Yeah,” he ignores the light fluttering in his stomach as he remembers his arm around the boy’s waist, bodies pressed together, faces just inches apart in the dark garage. Laura narrows her eyes.

“Your heart’s telling a different story.” Derek groans and rolls over, letting Laura’s head fall onto the grass. It really doesn’t matter what he _wants_ , not so long as Stiles doesn’t want it too. 

“Can we just, not? It’s fine, everything’s fine. We’ll get through the rest of the summer and everything will go back to normal when school starts.” That perks Laura’s interest, causing her to flip over to her stomach, propping her head on her palms, elbows digging into the soft earth.

“And what’s ‘normal’?” Derek rolls his eyes. His sister must be having a slow summer if she’s this intrigued with his life.

“I don’t know… pencil stealing, knocking into me in the hallway. Once he- what?” He pauses at the grin that flashes across Laura’s face. She smothers it down, nodding for him to continue, but he clamps his mouth shut, unwilling to let his misery be a source of her entertainment. He opts instead to stand up, brushing the errant blades of grass off his still damp shorts before starting the run home. Laura’s on him in less than ten seconds, jumping onto his back and making him carry her a quarter of a mile before she hops off and jogs by his side, silent for once. 

______________________________

 

“I need you to come with me to pick up Cora tomorrow.” Derek slowly pulls the fork out of his mouth, careful to think his words through so he won’t be accused of talking back to his alpha.

“But I’m supposed to be at the Stilinski’s tomorrow. Can’t Laura go?”

“Laura has an eight hour shift. You have a flexible schedule. I’m sure the sheriff and the plants will understand if you come in on Tuesday instead.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts, I need you to drive on the way there. Besides, Cora specifically asked for you to come.” And with that, the matter’s settled. Derek pushes the asparagus tips around his plate for a couple minutes before asking to be excused. Talia gives him a long look before nodding, and he’s guessing there’s going to be a talk later. He keeps a straight face as he gathers his things and heads to the kitchen, giving the plate a good rinse before going up to his room. It’s Laura’s turn to do dishes, so he’s got the evening free to do… nothing. He flops onto the bed and can’t help but let his mind wander to Stiles, imagining all the fun he’s probably having with his friends. At a movie, sneaking booze out to the preserve, playing video games at someone’s house… definitely not moping in his bedroom while his parents bicker congenially at the table and his sister tells stories of the weird customers she had today. He’s probably laughing, sneaking kisses with pretty girls, getting them to sign his cast as they sit on his lap and he enchants them with stories of game-winning goals and physics-defying feats. He won’t even notice Derek’s not there on Monday, probably be glad for the break so he can get back to his real life, his real friends. 

“Snap out of it, Derek!” Laura calls from just outside his door, making him jolt with surprise and humiliation. He must be reeking of self-pity if she can smell it all the way out there. He sits up, shaking his head and then his whole body before traipsing down the stairs to make a phone call. He’s more than a little shocked to find a woman on the other end.

“ _Stilinski residence_.” 

“Uh, hi, is the sheriff or Stiles around?”

 _“Stiles is indisposed at the moment, may I ask who’s speaking_?” Derek strains to sift through the commotion in the background, find anything to hint as to who this is and what she’s doing there. There’s some music and muffled voices, but nothing he can decipher.

“If you could just let him know Derek will be there on Tuesday instead of Monday, please?”

 _“Sure, Dirk on Tuesday, got it_.”

“Actually it’s Der-” he’s cut off by the sound of a dial tone.

______________________________

 

“Who was that?” Isaac asks from the front door, flipping through songs on his phone, unwilling to venture too far into the sheriff’s house. Kira’s searching the countertops for something to write on, finally spotting a pad of sticky notes. She jots down the message, leaving it in what she assumes is a conspicuous spot before joining Isaac by the entryway.

“Dirk, coming on Tuesday.”

“Who the hell’s Dirk?”

“Don’t know. Did they get him yet?” She nods at the stairs, cringing a little at the scuffling above her. “Guess not.” There’s the sound of running water and a yelp, quickly followed by a string of curses.

“ _It’s fucking cold! I can’t get this fucking thing wet! Fucking let me go!_ ”

“It’s for your own good!” Scott shouts back.

“I got the cast.” Danny, always the sensible one.

“Seriously Stilinski, you _reek_.” Jackson, what a charmer. Kira’s tempted to climb the stairs, but doesn’t know Stiles’ state of dress and really doesn’t want to push her luck. They’d come to his house after practice to try to convince Stiles to come out with them, wheedle him into coming back to the team. Coach said he two more practices and then he was out for good, ‘No take-backs!’ whatever that means. There’s another yelp and more incoherent shouting, and Kira throws a panicked look at Isaac, who calmly continues to thumb through his playlist.

“Should you go see what’s going on? Maybe go help?” Isaac sighs and lowers his phone.

“My guess is a lot of wet, half-naked guys struggling to hold onto each other in a cramped space. Sure _you_ don’t want to see what’s going on?” Kira’s cheeks pink immediately as she faces resolutely forward, not even daring a glance at the ceiling.

“I’ll wait in the car.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Isaac says, focus back on his phone as he barely hears the door shut behind him.

______________________________

 

Derek’s an hour into his three hour journey to Camp Windsorfell, classic rock on the radio and his mother in the passenger seat, papers fanned out across her lap, highlighter poised in attack mode. He’s spent the last hour braced for conversation, but Talia’s focus has been squarely on her case, humming and circling, making notes in the margins. She didn’t even object when Derek pulled through a McDonalds, taking the proffered ice-cap gratefully.

The drive itself is nice; no traffic, sunny, beautiful forests, the kind of drive families used to go on just to go on. Derek starts to relax a little, bopping his head to the music as they cross the half-way mark. He’s still surprised Cora asked for him specifically to come, he figured she’d want Laura, or coveted alone time with their mom. They’d never been particularly close, Cora being six years younger, with little to nothing in common, but they loved each other like siblings do, through yelling and teasing and lightly veiled threats.

“So Derek,” immediately his shoulders tense, to which Talia laughs lightly, “calm down. You’re going to run us off the road.” He tries to loosen his muscles, but his heart still races a bit faster than normal. Talia shakes her head as she carefully fits her papers back into her briefcase. “Do you want to tell me about this Stilinski boy?”

“What about him?” He’s not about to give anything away without trying to suss out what his mom knows first. No need to make a running leap when a bunny hop will do.

“Well, from what Laura’s told me,” _oh hell_ ,”he’s been a source of torment for you these past few years.”

“ _Torment_ is a pretty strong word.”

“Derek…”

“Kind of? Nothing harmful, just, you know, little things, like, pencil stealing, sitting behind me and poking my back. If it had gotten bad I would have told you.”

“Mm hmm, even though his father’s the sheriff?”

“The sheriff’s a good man, Mom, you know this.”

“I do, but I also know you’re the type to suffer in silence if you think you might inconvenience others.” She sets the briefcase by her feet, turning to give her son her full attention, “Is this why you were anxious about working over there?” His silence speaks for him. “Oh honey, why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because it’s seriously nothing. And, it’s been fine. More than fine, actually, I think we’re becoming friends.” He pauses, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, “I, uh, may have invited him over for dinner sometime, if that’s okay.” Talia’s lips curve up minutely.

“And he accepted?”

“Kind of, it wasn’t formal or anything, more of an open invitation.” 

“I see. Well, after the full moon’s passed, invite him again, we’ll cook him up an amazing meal.” Derek blushes a little at this.

“Thanks Mom.”

 

______________________________

 

Stiles is pacing around his house, routinely checking out the window for a bike, a shock of black hair, the sound of a lawnmower- and is left disappointed each time. When he hadn’t heard a knock at 11:30 he’d grinned ruefully at the idea that Derek had finally learned he didn’t have to be thirty minutes early. But when he still hadn’t shown up by noon, Stiles had started to worry, even pulling on his shirt to take a brief walk around the house, just to make sure he hadn’t blacked out and missed him somehow.

By 12:30 his stomach is in knots. He doesn’t even have a number to call him at, which seems like a grievous oversight he’ll have to get on his dad about. He has to assume Derek is okay, is just finally acting like a normal teenager and playing hooky. But still… he looks out the window again. Nothing. He checks the time - 12:35. With a sigh he pulls out his phone, thumb hovering over Scott’s name. What is he going to say, _Hey Scott, I know you have practice in 15 minutes, but could you drive around and make sure my lawnboy isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere?_ Yes, that would go perfectly. 

“ _Hey Stiles!_ ” Oh shit, he’d dialed.

“Heeeey, Scotty, so, I was wondering-”

 _“Yes, definitely, on my way, Coach is gonna be thrilled! See you in five!_ ” Stiles is left staring at his phone, 100% unsure as to what just transpired. 

Three minutes later Scott’s pulling into his driveway in his mom’s Camry, grin on his face so big Stiles can’t for the life of him say no. He even ties his shoes for him, which Stiles now realizes is not the sensual activity Derek had made it seem. The car ride to the field is short, with Scott catching him up on team dynamics and Stiles nodding in intervals, keeping an eye out for a body in a gutter, mind racing with reasons why Derek wouldn’t be there. Hurt, kidnapped, lost, quit- oh shit, did Stiles make him quit? All he’d said was ‘huge nerd butt,’ Derek wouldn’t quit over _that_ , right?

“Hey dude, relax,” Scott pats his left hand where it’s clenched around the fabric of his shorts as they roll onto the field, “practice will be fine.” 

Kira’s the first to notice as Stiles slams the door shut, jumping and waving her crosse in a dangerously wild manner, almost taking out a couple of freshman with her swings. Stiles waves back with his casted arm, free hand blocking the sun from his eyes as he checks out the field. There’s a handful of people he doesn’t know, likely the incoming freshmen here to usurp his position, whom he tries not to hate on sight. A shrill whistle pulls his attention to the center of the field, where Coach Finstock is glaring at him with those too wide eyes.

“Stilinski! Where the fresh hell have you been?!?” He bellows, hair sticking up on all sides. Stiles has to admit, he missed the crazy guy.

“Uh, Coach, do you not remember?” He holds up the cast. Finstock stalks forward.

“I don’t care if you get a _leg amputated_ , you’re still on this team, you hear me? Now go run, you owe me twenty laps.”

“But Coach-”

“What, your leg amputated already?” 

“No, but-”

“Then GIVE ME TWENTY LAPS!” He accentuates his shout with a blast from his whistle before turning to face the rest of the team. “And YOU lot, give me ten laps! Can’t have you getting all tubsy in the off season. You hear me, Greenburg? I see that Twix bar!” Stiles groans and jogs over to the equipment shed, rummaging around until he finds two armguards to strap onto his left arm. He’s not sure if they’re heavy enough to offset the cast, but it’s better than nothing.

Scott runs beside him, grinning like an idiot, until he finishes his ten laps, leaving Stiles to do his final ten alone. It’s kind of peaceful, despite the occasional earsplitting whistle, and he’s almost sad when he finishes the last lap. A scrimmage is well underway by the time he walks over, hands on his head, lungs sucking in the fresh summer air.

“So, whaddya think, Stilinski, do we have a team this year?”

“I’d say we have a team every year, Coach.”

“Don’t get smart with me. I need you to keep an eye on Dunbar and Wachowski, make sure that’s the best place to put them.” Finstock slaps a clipboard against Stiles’ chest, and he’s fairly sure he’s just graduated to assistant coach for the time being.

“If they’re slacking can I make them do push-ups?” Finstock shoots him a nearly manic grin.

“Oh hell yeah.”

______________________________

 

Cora’s already waiting at the main office when they pull into the campgrounds, picking at the seams in her backpack. Derek howls lightly, honking the horn to cover it up, but it makes her eyes shine as she jerks her head toward them. 

“Don’t be obnoxious,” Talia warns, but smiles nonetheless. Derek grins ruefully, unbuckling and stepping out of the car. Cora’s on them in an instant, moving faster than any eleven year old has any right to, but the camp counselor is too busy rifling through papers to notice. Talia peppers her face with kisses before letting her squirm away to barrel into Derek, who sweeps her up into a crushing hug.

The counselor compares Talia’s ID to the one they have on file, then leads them into the little log building to sign Cora out for the next three days. Talia gives the convincing story of a family reunion, and in a way it’s the truth, just missing some major details. Cora clings to Derek’s back the whole time, face buried in his neck, taking deep whiffs of _pack_. Talia smooths her hair, asking if she has everything she needs before thanking the counselor and director and leading her children out the door. 

“Shotgun!” Cora shouts, springing off Derek’s back and booking it to the car. Derek scoops her back up easily, holding her up by the backpack like an errant kitten.

“Children.” Talia warns, flashing her red eyes before turning back to the cabin with a smile and a wave. Derek and Cora sheepishly crawl into the car, both in the backseat.

“So,” Derek says once they’re both settled, “why’d you want me to come get you?” Cora’s eyes widen for a second, glancing at their mom in the driver’s seat. 

“Couldn’t I have just missed my big brother?”

“Could have, but probably didn’t, so what’s up?” Cora glances at Talia again, making Derek roll his eyes. “She’s going to hear anyway, so you might as well spill.”

“Fine… there’s… a boy-”

“Ha!”

“ _Derek._ ”

“Sorry, sorry. Okay, there’s a boy…” Cora’s glaring at him now, eyes looking so much like their mother’s he wouldn’t be surprised if they flashed alpha red at him 

“-and he’s an asshole.”

“ _Cora._ ”

“Well he is. But, he’s also pretty cute, and funny, and, I don’t know, I thought maybe you could give me some advice…?” Derek’s caught somewhere between flattered and stupefied. 

“I don’t- what kind of advice?” Cora shrugs her small shoulders.

“I dunno, how to get him to like me?” 

“Cora, you can’t-” he sighs, mind drifting to thoughts of Stiles, “you can’t _make_ someone like you. Not even as a friend. The best you can do is just be yourself, and if they’re lucky they’ll notice how awesome you are and decide, I don’t know, that life’s better with you in it.” He catches Talia giving him a knowing look through the rearview mirror while Cora wrinkles her nose.

“That’s corny.”

“Corny but true. Now, what makes him such an asshole?”

“Derek.”

“Her words, not mine!”

“ _Derek_.”

“Fine, what makes him such a jerk?” Cora leans back into the seat, running a lock of hair through her fingers.

“He’ll pick on me, steal my markers during art time, one time he pulled my hair-”

“Did you chase him?”

“Of course!” Derek smothers a grin. “What?”

“Cora, he _likes_ you. He just doesn’t know how to say it. So he does these things, hoping you’ll react and notice him.” Cora’s cheeks go pink as her mouth drops open. “Looks like it worked.”

“So what you’re saying, Derek,” Talia says as she pulls into the gas station, “is that if a boy, oh, I don’t know, steals your pencil or pokes at your back incessently, it’s because he likes you?”

“I mean, yeah, pretty mu-” he stops, cheeks flaring red as recalls what he’d told his mother earlier. No way. There was _no way_...

“Your words, not mine,” she whispers, winking at Cora before sliding out the door. Cora glances between them, confusion etched on her young face. 

“Derek, do you have a boy-”

“You can each get one candy bar, and pick one out for Laura.” Cora’s eyes light up.

“Oooo, candy!” And she’s off, conversation forgotten, leaving Derek shell-shocked in the backseat. 

 

______________________________

“And where the hell have you been, young man?” Stiles asks, flinging open the door not a second after Derek’s knuckles made contact.

“I- had to-” did this guy _ever_ wear a shirt? Was this flirting too? Derek’s out of his depth, “I left you a message.”

“What? When? How?” Stiles is still blocking the door, giving Derek precious little to focus on besides his bared torso.

“Sunday, I called, a girl answered the phone.” This is apparently a satisfactory answer as Stiles’ shoulders fall and he steps back, allowing entrance into the house.

“That was Kira, which means...” he trails off, walking into the kitchen and rooting around on the counter. After an awkward two minutes of Derek just standing there Stiles unearths a sticky note from the bottom of the newspaper about to be thrown away.

“ _Dirk - Tuesday_ ,” he holds it up for Derek to see, “I’m guessing you’re Dirk?”

“Clearly my reputation precedes me.” He wasn’t really expecting any of the lacrosse players to know who he was, but still…

“Hey man, I’m sorry, if what I said-”

“It’s fine, seriously. My mom just needed me to drive her up to Windsorfell to pick up my sister.” He shakes his head and puts on a grim smile, thinking back to what his mom had oh so helpfully pointed out in the car. _There was no way_. “I’m just sorry you didn’t know. Hope I didn’t keep you from something.”

“Uh, no, actually, I, uh, kinda joined the lacrosse team again. Apparently Coach can’t bear to lose all this,” he makes a sweeping gesture down his body with his left arm, and Derek is helpless to follow it. _There was no way_.

“Getting back to where you belong, huh? Do we need to rearrange our schedule now?” The words come out more biting than Derek means, but it’s all true. Stiles belongs on the field, among the other popular jocks with their pretty significant others cheering them on from the stands, leaving Derek to adjust to his schedule. And, really, why shouldn’t he? Not like he’s got anything else going on.

“I can- I can give you a list of practice times, or, I’m sure Dad would freakin give you a key now. Pretty sure he trusts you more than me.” And great, now Stiles sounds disgruntled. 

“Whatever works best for you. I’ll be outside,” he needs to get out before he poisons anything else. There is no pigtail pulling here, just out and out assholery. But instead of coming from Stiles, it’s coming from him instead. _What the fuck’s wrong with me?_ he scolds himself as he stalks over to the shed, only remembering once he gets to it that he doesn’t have the key.

“Might need this,” Stiles says, coming up behind him. Derek takes a deep breath and turns around. If the grass weren’t too long already he’d just take today off too. The impending full moon was doing nothing to help him deal with his erratic emotions.

“Thanks,” he grunts, taking the key and quickly undoing the lock. A part of him just wants to hide in the dusty darkness of the shed for the rest of the day. Week. Summer. 

“Are you okay?” Derek grimaces for a second, trying to school his facial features back into passive before turning around once again.

“Fine,” he hands the key back, trying to avoid looking at Stiles’ face. The other boy doesn’t move, apparently waiting for a better answer. He huffs a breath, “My Aunt… Selene is visiting for a few days, and she kind of makes me crazy,” he makes the mistake of looking up, seeing the understanding in Stiles’ eyes.

“I get that. And hey, if you ever need to get away, you can always crash here, okay?” 

“She’s pretty unavoidable, but, thanks,” the words calm Derek down more than they should, like a hand running through his hair and down his back. Stiles nods a few seconds longer than necessary before shooting Derek a half smile.

“I’ll be inside.”

“Okay, thanks,” Stiles nods one more time before turning abruptly toward the house. He gets about four steps before Derek calls out to him.

“Hey Stiles?” He whips around so fast Derek’s afraid he might sprain something. He bites back a grin, “Seriously, thanks.”

“Anytime, man.”  
______________________________

 

The next few weeks go better; everyone makes it through the first full moon after the solstice unscathed, Laura takes Cora back to camp so they can have some ‘sister time’, and Stiles and Derek figure out a schedule to accommodate Stiles’ lacrosse practices and Derek’s growing lawn business. Turns out Mrs. Claris has been telling stories of her ‘strapping young man’ to her bridge club, getting him three more lawns to manicure.

“You’re turning into quite the entrepreneur.” Stiles grins as Derek adds yet another lawn onto the schedule. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to add his jobs to the Stilinski’s calendar, it just feels… right. Like a headquarters of sorts. Definitely has nothing to do with the tentative running schedule they’ve setup.

“Was never my intention,” he grunts back, underlining the name in green to show he’s supposed to mow on that day. 

“What do you mean?” Stiles crowds in a little closer, oblivious to personal space as he reads over Derek’s shoulder. Not for the first time Derek’s thankful Stiles isn’t a wolf and can’t hear how his heart speeds up as he gets nearer.

“I had a plan,” he admits, finishing up the schedule and setting his pen down, “to put out a boring flyer with a bad number, claim I’d tried, and waste the summer away in the basement.” He turns to find Stiles still absurdly close to him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Worked for about a week. Then the sheriff called, and you really can’t say no to that.” Stiles grins a little ruefully, running a hand through his hair.

“Ah, sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.” It’s incredibly honest, and the moment feels stretched between them, like there’s so much else being said in those four words. They’re halfway through the summer and Derek can almost definitely say they’re friends but there’s still that lingering doubt that that’s all they’ll be, and maybe even just until school starts, until things go back to the way they were. Every day he thinks about the lingering invitation for dinner and whether or not it might be a good time to bring it up again, but in the end he always chickens out. Stiles licks his lips, pulling Derek’s gaze down to his mouth before he can snap it away to somewhere else. The window. That’s always a safe bet, and a good reminder as to what he’s doing here.

“I should get to weeding; you wanna help with the hose?” Stiles had taken to helping out where he could, holding open a bag for clippings, watering when the rain didn’t come for a few days, and sometimes just keeping Derek company as he spread mulch or pruned flowers. He nods, jerking his head toward the stairs.

“Lemme just text Scott, I’ll be out there in a few.” 

“Okay.” Derek’s heart is racing as he heads out to the shed. Today. He’s going to ask today.

______________________________

“C’mon Stiles,” he slaps his face a few times, cringing as the plaster smacks his jaw harder than he meant. “Ow, shit.”

Things have been going well, _incredibly_ well. They were jogging and joking and _comfortable_ with each other now. And that was half the problem. Before, Stiles could have gone for broke, and, if it turned out Derek wasn’t into him, all he’d lose was a one-sided crush. But now- there was so much more at stake. If Stiles made a move and Derek rejected him, could they still be friends? Would Derek still be comfortable working at his house? Was the possibility of a romance worth jeopardizing this newly blossomed friendship? Stiles looks out the window to see Derek carefully pulling the weeds around the Asiatic Lilies, his mother’s favorite flowers. His heart thumps as he watches him gently caress the petals before standing and disappearing into the shed with the clippings.

“Yes,” he whispers before taking the stairs faster than he has all summer, trying to outrun his cowardice. He cools it once he hits the front door, not wanting to scare Mrs. Claris, or, more likely, giving her something to gossip to her bridge club about.

Stiles stalks across the yard, into the shed, bypassing the hose and pushing Derek against the wall with his good hand, fisting the collar of his shirt as he presses in, eyes skating all over Derek’s bewildered face as his heart thumps in his chest.

“Stiles- what-"

The next words are lost as Stiles seals their mouths together, hoping, _praying_ that it’s not just him, that he didn’t ruin everything in one misjudged second. It feels like an eternity before he feels Derek’s hands in his hair, angling his head and gripping the tresses, kissing back with a fervor Stiles is all too happy to match. He rests his right arm against Derek’s collarbone, fingers sliding over the shell of his ear as his good hand loosens the hold it had on his shirt, opting instead to wander, slip over his heaving ribs, wrap around the back of his neck, rub down his back, teasing at the waistband of his pants. He pulls back for a second, just to make sure this is real, to fully appreciate Derek lust-filled eyes and red, red mouth, before diving in again.

“You,” he breathes out between kisses, “Have been driving. Me crazy. All. Summer. Long.”

“I’m not, _hnnng_ , the one running around, _ohmygod_ , shirtless all day.”

“You should be,” Stiles tugs at the sweat-stained tee, trying to pull it over Derek’s head without moving their mouths apart. It’s not going well. Until Derek literally rips it down the middle, and Stiles nearly comes undone from that alone. “Holy _fuck_ that was so hot. You are _so hot_ ,” he moans, slotting their mouths together once more as his hands explore the newly exposed skin. There’s still a little babyfat clinging to his ribs, but not as much as he’d imagined. Or maybe not as much as he’d had at the beginning of the summer, what with all the laboring and jogging Derek’s been doing. Stiles thinks he might have grown an inch as well, not having to angle down as much as he’d fantasized to get at that enticingly red mouth. 

“And how is this,” Derek nips at his jaw, “the one time,” sucks behind his ear, “you wear a shirt?” Stiles grins at that, moving away for a second to take off the offending piece of clothing; it’s one of his nicer shirts and he’d appreciate keeping it intact. He’d anticipated a little more seduction going down before getting to this part. Derek honest-to-god whines as Stiles presses against him once more, bare skin to bare skin.

“Fucking finally,” he groans, splaying his hands across Stiles’ chest, rubbing his thumbs gingerly across the nipples, making Stiles bite his lip. He’d always been stupidly sensitive.

“Not quite to that stage yet, I’d like to take a guy out to dinner first.” He jokes, making Derek groan as he leans in for another kiss- and immediately pulls back. 

“Dinner,” he pants, “My mom wants you to come to dinner.”

“Shit, we _are_ moving fast. Can I at least shower first?”

“Shut up, I just, remembered, is all. Now let’s get back to-” he wraps a hand around Stiles’ neck to pull him back in, and Stiles isn’t about to argue with that. 

It’s a good half hour before they even think about getting back to the lawn, panting into each others mouths as they get each other off, reasoning that it’d be more awkward to run around with erections than wet pants from their hastily enacted water fight to wash away the evidence. Stiles has to give it to Derek (and he plans to, wink wink) for being ethical enough to insist on finishing the day’s job before accepting the invitation to ‘see Stiles’ room’. Stiles stays by his side though, trailing fingers down his back, brushing the hair out of his face, generally being a sexy nuisance. Finally Derek finishes the last flower bed, rushing Stiles inside so he can slam him against the door. Stiles is losing himself to the feel of Derek’s lips on his neck when they’re suddenly pulled away, leaving his skin cool where it had just been blissfully hot. He opens his eyes to find Derek standing stock still about a foot away from him, eyes big as he stares at a point just above Stiles’ right shoulder.

“Your dad’s home.” Stiles can’t help the panicked head turn, expecting to see his dad standing right behind him instead of the solid wood of the door.

“Wha-?” he turns back, cheeks flushed, “How can you tell?”

“I heard a car pull up.” And before Stiles can say anything else he’s backing away, eyes flitting frantically around the room, “Where’s my shirt?”

“It’s, ahh-” Stiles grins a bit at the recent memory, “it’s on the floor of the shed.”

“Oh shit.” Derek’s panic is contagious, making Stiles’ stomach turn a bit. He’d imagined asking Derek to stay for dinner, introducing him to his dad as his boyfriend, calling Scott and telling him that finally, _finally_ , he’d gotten it right. But now, watching Derek freak out at the thought of getting caught kissing him, Stiles realizes he may have been over-reaching.

“You can grab-” he’s cut off as the knob jiggles, making him jerk away from where he had been leaning against the door. By the time he looks up Derek is slipping out into the backyard just as the front door opens. 

“Yo Dad.” The sheriff gives him one look before letting out a resigned sigh.

“Did you _just_ wake up? Stiles, it’s four in the afternoon.” Stiles’ jaw drops with indignation.

“I’ll have you know that I-” he stops, finger half-raised to lecture status, as his brain whirrs to come up with an explanation for his disheveled appearance that doesn’t out Derek, “- may have taken a nap.” The look he receives is less than impressed. 

“It’s bad form to sleep while others are working. You could probably be helping Derek out a bit now.” Stiles bites down on his lip to keep from replying as his dad slowly shakes his head and wanders into the kitchen. “And for godsakes, wear a shirt!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING!!! Y'all are SO awesome, and I 1000% appreciate every comment, kudos, and click; each one warms my heart more than you know. 
> 
> EDIT - So I lied, and it's not done, I really REALLY can't leave it like that, so I'm gonna go ahead and promise a 4th chapter. Zero promises on when it'll get up (that's how I got into this problem in the first place) but it's definitely coming~~
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as [little-werewolf-oven](http://little-werewolf-oven.tumblr.com/) if you ever feel the need to cry about Derek Hale with me. I'd love that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Please note, you might want to re-read the last bit of Chapter 3 to make sure you’ve read the most recent version, as it has been edited since its first publication.)
> 
> Happy summer! I have no excuse except it's really hard to write a summer fic during an Alaskan winter. Thank you for bearing with me! Love you all!!

Derek’s never been so keyed up in his life, including the first time he shifted during a blue moon. Every nerve in his body is lit up, tingling with residual energy and adrenaline as he rides through the neighborhood on wobbly legs, weaving through the street like a drunk on payday. His fingers grip the handlebars tighter as he fights off the urge to pull the borrowed shirt collar up over his nose, to _bury_ himself in the smell of Stiles and arousal and his own scent, layered on each other like the best bouquet. 

After what feels like ages he hits the preserve, trees blurring in his peripheral as he careens through the seldom used trail, abandoning all pretenses of control. It’s not long before he ditches the bike entirely, making vague plans to get it later as he takes off on foot through the woods. His heart feels like it might beat through his chest as he ducks branches and hops fallen logs. It’s not until he reaches a small clearing that he collapses, sprawling on the ground with Stiles’ shirt pulled over his face, eyes closed as he drags in lungfuls of the most amazing scent in the world. It’s spicy and clean and _them_ and oh god, Stiles is never getting this shirt back. He turns his focus on the surrounding area, making sure he is completely, utterly, one thousand percent alone before slipping a hand under his waistband, jacking himself slowly as he breathes deep, remembering the feel of slightly chapped lips on his, blunt teeth nipping at his jaw, deft fingers trailing down his back. He wonders, if the sheriff hadn’t come home, how far they might have taken things. If Stiles would have lead him into his room, pushed him down on the bed, pinning him there with his own body in the belief that he was the stronger one. Derek wouldn’t have minded going along with the charade, allowing Stiles to dominate him. His breath catches as he imagines Stiles’ hands holding him down, wrists above his head as lips trail down his torso. He closes his eyes to the phantom feel of fingers biting into his skin, grazing down his side, sliding into his shorts. A moan is muffled into his fist as he imagines Stiles looking up at him from under his eyelashes, mouth poised to take him in. It doesn’t take but three more strokes before he’s shooting into his underwear, sighing at the released tension in his body as he melts into the grass.

It’s not long before he starts to feel uncomfortably sticky, and realizes what a stupid mistake he’s made. No way is he going to be able to hide the smell of sex and Stiles from his family. Unless… he hoists himself to his feet and takes a minute to get his bearings. The orgasm seems to have calmed him down, taking the edge off and allowing him to think clearer. First order of business: find his bike. Second: mask the scent. Third: hope to god Laura doesn’t find out. 

Minutes later he’s riding his bike up to the lake, front wheel wobbling from where it had been lodged into a tree. _Fourth: fix tire on bike._ He breathes a little sigh of relief at the sight of the glassy surface, eager to clean the drying spunk off of him. He takes a lip gnawing moment to pull the aromatic shirt over his head, tucking it safely between a couple of branches, before diving into the water. It takes a solid twenty minutes and no less than three rolls in the dirt and leaves before the scent of come is indiscernible. The shirt, though, he’s not sure what to do with. He can’t bring himself to douse it, but taking it home would be handing Laura an open invitation of harassment and ridicule. Especially when there was still that level of uncertainty on what it all really means. Are they messing around? Are they public? Is this just a summer fling or something more? Derek’s not sure and not ready to ask Stiles, which is why he spends thirty minutes looking for a cartoonesque knothole in which to stash his prize until a later date. 

It’s nearly dusk by the time he wanders into the house, trying his best for casual as he makes his way through the foyer on his way to the stairs. So far so goo-

“Shuuuuu, boy, you stink! Stilinski sure worked you over today.” Laura shouts from the living room. He fights down the flare to his cheeks, focusing on keeping his heartbeat steady as he continues to walk.

“You should talk; do you roll in the fries after work? Dab a little grease behind your ear for that Eau de Diner?”

“Guess you’re not interested in the leftovers I snuck you, then?” Derek grins and does an about-face.

“I never said _that_. Mom and Dad not home?”

“Nah, date-night. Figured we could take advan- Der?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your shirt?”

“Oh,” _shit_ , “uhhhh-”

 

______________________________

 

Stiles is on pins and needles. It’s been a full 44 hours since their impromptu make-out session with no follow-up. He feels a pang of helplessness as he scrolls through his contacts, still bereft of Derek’s number, waiting for some kind of communication. He hadn’t really realized how much of their interaction was completely dependent on Derek. Like, pretty much all of it. 

He shuffles down to the kitchen, blandly staring at the calendar. Derek’s scheduled to work on the Richardson’s lawn today, on the opposite side of town, which means there’s little to no chance of a quick drop-by. Stiles’ stomach churns as he looks at his phone again, and almost throws it against the wall when it starts ringing, Scott’s face pressed against the screen.

“Yo.”

“ _What’s wrong? You sound sad_.” There is a small chance Scott knows him way too well.

“It’s nothing. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“ _Want to talk about it?_?” 

“Nah, not just yet.”

“ _Okay man, you wanna go get some Taco Bell before practice?_ ”

“Of course.” One should never think about uncertain relationship statuses on an empty stomach, and Stiles couldn’t quite bring himself to heat up the last box of pizza rolls.

Ten minutes later they’re parked at the edge of the preserve, shared bag of dollar menu delicacies between them. Stiles reaches in and begins rooting around, earning him a smack on the arm.

“What? I’m not looking.”

“You’re blind-man looking. It’s against the rules.” Stiles rolls his eyes and grabs the first thing his hand touches. He’s vaguely hoping for the shredded chicken mini quesadilla, and deflates a little as he pulls out something decidedly burrito shaped. 

“If it’s the Frito one I’m gonna be so sad,” Scott says as Stiles unwraps and bites in, leaving a trail of cheese in his wake.

“Nope, you’re good,” he says around the mouthful of cheese roll-up. Scott scrunches up his face and dives in, pulling out the bag of cinnamon twists. “Whaa~ whaaaa~.”

“Shut up, I like the cinnatwists.” They continue like that - taking turns, pulling from the grab bag and devouring the spoils no matter what it is. That’s the game, buy out the dollar menu and eat until you’re ready to explode. Scott sighs deeply as he finally unwraps the Frito burrito, while Stiles licks the fake cheese of the nachos from his fingers.

“All yours, brother.” Scott grins through the mouthful as Stiles pats his stomach, uncomfortably full from their fast-food-feast, “This was probably a bad idea. Coach’s gonna make us run, like, forty laps.”

“First one to throw up loses.” Stiles groans and throws a handful of napkins at Scott, who bats them away before grabbing a couple to wipe his face and hands, shoving all the wrappings and trash into the now empty bag. They sit in silence for a minute, digesting to the sounds of the preserve before Scott lets out a contented burp and starts up the car. Stiles closes his eyes and leans back into the seat.

“I miss my jeep.”

“Me too,” Scott sports a wan smile as he guides the Camry along the bumpy dirt road, “this car was never meant to go off-roading.”

 

They get to practice early enough to do some stretches and strap on Stiles’ weight-appropriate arm guards before Coach blows his whistle and demands ten laps out of his players. The midsummer sun beats down on them mercilessly, and Stiles regrets not slathering on a layer of sunscreen before leaving the house. He can feel his nose getting pink as he rounds his final lap, legs burning with exertion. Coach is waiting at the bleachers, an expectant look on his face as Stiles slows to a walk, arms over his head to help even out his breathing.

“Stilinski, you’re running drills with Mahealani and Porter. Try not to break your other arm,” he shoves a crosse at him before turning to yell at Kira and Greenberg, giving Stiles no chance to splutter a protest. Well, not to his face, anyway.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” He grouses while ambling up to the goal. Danny and Jameson are waiting, tossing a ball back and forth between them. Danny notices him first, smiling and lobbing the ball easily toward him. It glances off the edge of his awkwardly flailed crosse, rolling down the field toward another group of players. Danny gives out a short whistle and within seconds the ball is sailing back over Stiles' head, landing easily in the net of the goalie's stick. 

"Well that was a real mood booster. Thanks guys, I'm gonna go wait in the car," Stiles is about to turn on his heel when another ball comes flying at his head. This time he adjusts the stick's position just in time to catch it, narrowly avoiding a black eye or broken nose. 

"Come on, I'm gonna teach you how to play lefty," Jameson calls out, jerking his head toward the goal. Stiles groans but jogs over, it’s not like it’s their fault coach is making them babysit.

"It was my idea," Danny announces, fingers poised over the guard of his goalie's helmet, "Jameson can show you how to position yourself, and I can practice catching erratic throws." Stiles pulls a face as Danny laughs, tugging the helmet down and getting into position. 

An hour later Stiles is out of breath and frustrated. It's not just that he has to play left handed, but one-handed as well. It takes strength he doesn't have to aim and throw and keep his balance. Jameson helps, adjusting his wrist, having Stiles mirror his movements, but in the end he’s just too tired to continue, having exhausted muscles he’d seldom used before. Danny assures him it’ll get better, to keep at it, before he and Jameson jog over to join the rest of the team. Stiles shuffles his way to the bench just as coach announces a scrimmage, followed by “STILINSKI! Get over here! Keep an eye on Dunbar and Machowski-”

“Wachowski?”

“Whatever, just make sure they’re not screwing around. HEAR ME? DON’T SCREW AROUND! LET’S GO!”

 

______________________________

 

Derek rides up to the Stilinski’s house, stomach in a knot. Laura had teased him mercilessly about his missing shirt, and his parents had come home to a broken lamp and scratched up endtable, which resulted in groundings for both of them. Laura got an extra two days for muttering that she was nineteen and adults didn't get grounded, which, thanks to their mother, has been thoroughly proven false. 

But the end result had been no Stiles, no chance visits, no phone calls, no follow-up on their makeout session. Derek's not sure what the proper protocol is for spur-of-the-moment kisses, but he's almost positive he's gone against them. 

His fist hovers in front of the door, wondering if he should just walk in at this point, before it's pulled open to reveal a surprisingly shirt-clad and devastatingly beet-red Stiles. 

"Uh, hi." Stiles gives him a quick up-down with his eyes before groaning and sluggishly turning away, leaving the door wide open. Derek takes it as an invitation and steps in, tugging the door closed behind him. 

"Did you really have to come over like that?" Stiles tosses behind him as he heads into the living room.

"Like...?" Derek's at a bit of a loss, heartbeat ratcheting up into panic-mode. Stiles turns and gives him a glare.

"I'm over here, half-dead from sun poisoning, while you're all tanned and beautiful and how dare you show your face here looking like that after no communication with me all week." Derek flounders, missing the last bit as his mind turns to goo on the fact that _Stiles just called him beautiful_. 

"So?" Derek blinks and looks up to find Stiles giving him an expectant look.

"So...?"

"So what do you have to say for yourself?" There’s a playful edge to Stiles’ tone, which calms Derek’s initial panic reaction. He shrugs.

"I got grounded. My sister and I got in a fight and broke some things and my parents put us both on lockdown, plus made us do a ton of yard work. I think they figured I could put my new skills to good use." 

“And they took your phone away? Which, by the way, I need your number,” Stiles pulls his phone out from his side pocket, unlocking and looking up in time to catch Derek’s blush and quick turn. “What? Too soon?”

“I, ah, I don’t have a phone. My own phone.” He wants to die at the slack-jawed look Stiles is giving him, phone hanging limply in his left hand.

“You- what? How do you even _survive_?” He lets the phone drop, walking a few steps forward to gingerly take Derek into his arms, holding his head to his chest, “You brave little soldier.” Derek squirms and pulls away, blush high on his cheeks now.

“It’s not that bad. My mom knows how to reach me, and it’s not like I have a lot of people calling me anyway.” He wants to move away from this conversation, wants to bring up the kiss and what it meant and if Stiles wants to do it again. Stiles gives him a look, like he’s trying to reign in the pity but not quite managing it, before turning and slowly bending over to retrieve his phone. Derek can’t help the way his eyes follow the curve of his body, the way his basketball shorts cling to his-

“Bend and snap, gets ‘em every time,” Derek’s face explodes with heat as he glances over to see Stiles grinning cheekily at him, ass still in the air, giving it a little wiggle. Derek swallows. 

“I should get to work.” 

“Oh _helllll_ no, I finally got you back here, you’re not ditching me so fast.” Stiles is upright and in front of him in the blink of an eye, and just as quickly backing away, “Unless, I mean, you don’t want to-” Derek shoots out an arm, grabbing the loose fabric at Stiles’ waist, stilling his retreat.

“I want to,” he’s embarrassed by how breathless he sounds, but Stiles just grins, slipping his good hand underneath Derek’s t-shirt, thumb drawing lazy circles on his hip. 

“Good to know,” he murmurs, leaning in and capturing Derek’s mouth with his own. He’s surprised by the gentleness of it; the last few kisses they’d shared were frantic and hurried; this is slow, easy, like they have all the time in the world. Derek sighs into it, smoothing his hand over Stiles’ stomach before sliding up his chest, getting a grip on his neck that makes the other boy wince in pain. Derek pulls back instantly, eyes wide in panic. He’d hurt him. They hadn’t even been doing anything strenuous and he’d _hurt_ him. How could they ever-

“S’ok, just sunburn,” Stiles says, blindly grabbing at Derek’s hand to wrap back around his waist, “just stay on the t-shirt.” At this Derek grins a little wickedly.

“Only _on_ the t-shirt?” He asks, fingers running along the hem, lifting it to show the still pale skin before slipping his hand under to drag light scratches down the small of Stiles’ back, making him shiver.

“Or… or under. Or…” they both pause to look at Stiles’ shorts, hint of a bulge already showing. Derek raises an eyebrow, feeling playful and powerful and _sexy_ for the first time in his life.

“Guessing there’s no sunburn down there?”

“You don’t have to-”

“What if I want to?” Stiles swallows roughly as Derek slides his fingers along the waistband of his shorts, blunt nails just barely grazing the exposed skin, pausing when he feels the dusting of hair below his navel. “Do you?” Stiles’ mouth is gaped open a bit, like he just simply forgot to close it, as he nods, eyes still fixed on Derek’s hand teasing at the coarse hairs.

“Have you- have you ever?” The question makes Derek flush with embarrassment as he looks down and shakes his head. When Stiles doesn’t immediately push his virgin ass away he chances a look, surprised to find a crooked smile on the other boy’s face. “Me neither.”

“Gave or received?”

“Both. Neither.” Derek wants to say he doesn’t believe him, because he _doesn’t_ , but there was no lie there. His heartbeat had been steady, if not a touch fast, but Derek is fairly certain that was mostly to do with the way his hand was inching down the front of Stiles’ nylon shorts. 

They both gasp a little as he comes in contact with hot skin, and Derek shouldn’t be as surprised as he is to find Stiles going without underwear. His fingers ghost along Stiles’ length, making the other boy hiss and buck up a little before Derek’s able to get a loose hold on his cock. He only gets a couple strokes in before Stiles grimaces and tugs up on his arm.

“Wait wait wait,” Derek stops immediately, arm going lax as Stiles brings his hand up to his face and runs the flat of his tongue across his palm. He does it again and again, and Derek’s embarrassed to admit how good it feels as Stiles laps along his fingers, tongue catching on the webbing in the most toe-tingling way.

“Okay,” he drops Derek’s hand and steps back, settling against the wall, “I mean, if you still want to-” Derek’s wrapping his spit-slick fingers around Stiles’ cock before he finishes his sentence, jacking him lightly as Stiles moans, head falling back against the wall. With the other boy’s eyes closed Derek drinks his fill, memorizing the shade of pink splotched across his cheeks, the way his long fingers grasp uselessly against the wall, how his hips thrust forward despite obvious attempts to keep still. Derek gives an experimental twist, running his thumb over the slit and receives a breathy _Fuuuck_ for his efforts. Stiles doesn’t even try to hold back the thrusts this time, a dazed look on his face as he brings a hand up to Derek’s neck, pulling him into a rough kiss, panting into his mouth. 

“‘m close,” he groans, falling back against the wall, left hand still clutched around the collar of Derek’s shirt. “Fuck, Derek, I’m gonna-”

“Yeah, do it,” Derek says without thinking, just wanting, _needing_ to see Stiles lose it, and know he was the cause. Fingers twist the fabric of his shirt so it rides up on his hip as Stiles lets out increasingly breathy moans. It’s probably better that he can’t see what Stiles’ cock looks like slipping back and forth in his fist, coated in precome; he’s already hard from the heady scent, the slick sound of skin on skin, the taste of Stiles’ skin on his tongue as he dips down to lick a droplet of sweat from his neck. 

“Oh fuck-” Stiles’ hips judder as Derek feels his dick pulse in his hand, stroking him through his orgasm as Stiles pants in his ear, hanging onto Derek’s shirt like a lifeline, like it’s the only thing still tethering him to the earth. Derek glances down to where his hand disappears under the waistband, to the come-soaked stain on the front of his shorts. A whimpered sigh pulls him back to Stiles’ face, totally blissed out, and he leans in for another kiss. 

Their lips barely have a chance to brush before a sharp knock at the door makes them both jump, Derek whipping his hand out of Stiles’ shorts so fast the other boy hisses at the sudden friction on his over-stimulated skin.

“Boys? You in there?” Derek cringes at the unmistakable voice of Mrs. Claris coming from the other side of the door. 

“Shit, shit shit shit,” Stiles scrambles up from his fucked-out position on the wall, looking frantically between the door, his shorts, and the safety of his bedroom. There’s another series of knocks, slower and louder this time, sounding all too much like a death toll. 

“Go, I’ll take care of this,” Derek whispers, heart rabbiting in his chest as he steps away, turning toward the door. He can just make out the silhouette of a surprisingly spry older woman when he feels a fleeting touch at his elbow, quickly followed by the sound of bare feet running across the floor and up the stairs, stumbling twice. Steeling his courage, he walks toward the door, reaches for the knob, and remembers his hand is covered in come. He blushes furiously as he tucks the dirty hand behind his back while awkwardly opening the door with his left. 

“My goodness, what’re you boys getting into that took you so long?” Her smile is sharp but teasing, doing nothing for the flush spreading across Derek’s face.

“Sorry ma’am, I was, ah, in the bathroom.” He silently curses his inability to lie on the spot like Laura as Mrs. Claris’ assessing gaze pierces through his soul. 

“Well I hope you didn’t rush on my account, and at least washed your hands.” If there was ever a time Derek wished the ground would open up and swallow him, it was now. He can’t even say anything, mouth gaping open like a fish as his heart tries to find the right pattern again, one that won’t give him palpitations. Mrs. Claris clears her throat a little, and Derek notices for the first time she’s carrying a tray of lemonade and cookies. His entire upbringing is screaming at him to take the heavy-looking dish from her, but his hand had been all up on Stiles’ business and was still covered in his… business. Somewhere his mother is silently shaking her head in shame as he steps back, holding the door open with a stilted, “Won’t you please come in?” The look she gives him is a little too calculating and knowing as she nods and steps over the threshold.

“Thank you, young man.” He trails her sheepishly into the kitchen, casting a longing look at the bathroom door just beyond his reach. He’d never been so desperate to wash his hands in his life. She sets the tray easily onto the table, swiping a bit of condensation off one of the glasses, “And where’s -”

At that moment Stiles comes crashing down the stairs, legs about three steps away from his body as Derek cringes, sure the day is going to end with another trip to the emergency room and three more months of lawn care. But Stiles miraculously makes it down in one piece, and Derek breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Sorry,” he pants out, running a hand through his unruly hair, “I- I was in the bathroom,” Derek nearly facepalms right there as Mrs. Claris lets out the tiniest of snort-laughs. 

“Oh you boys,” she mutters as she picks up two glasses of lemonade and hands them off, Derek instinctively reaching with his right hand and swapping out with his left mid-grab. Stiles raises an eyebrow, Derek makes a strained face at him, and Mrs. Claris tuts softly as she takes her glass and a cookie and heads into the living room. 

“ _What is happening_?” Stiles whispers as low as he can, wide eyes on Derek, who can only shrug his shoulders in response, which receives him narrowed eyes and an inaudible growl as Stiles fumbles up a cookie and follows the elderly neighbor into the other room. Derek reaches out and snatches his hand back before his befouled fingers could contaminate the plate. With a slight groan he abandons his cookie dreams and makes his way into the living room, joining Stiles on the couch while Mrs. Claris sits primly in the overstuffed chair across from them, eyeing Derek’s empty right hand. 

“Derek, don’t you want a cookie?” 

“Oh, no, I… ate, before I came over. Stuffed.” And of course, because his body is a traitorous bastard, his stomach emits a gurgle so loud the neighbors across the street could probably hear it. Stiles covers his grin by shoving half a cookie in his mouth as Derek sinks down into the cushions, face perpetually red. Mrs. Claris looks him over, and then shakes her head softly.

“Oh dear, why didn’t you tell me your were on a diet? Next time I’ll bring some carrot sticks so you don’t feel left out.” Derek can feel the couch tremor slightly with Stiles’ muffled laughter as he wonders when this nightmare will end. Nothing like bringing up one’s insecurities in front of one’s maybe-fling-maybe-more-who-knows. His whole face burns as he attempts to nod politely while taking a sip of lemonade.

“Though I must say, I think you look, oh what do you kids say… ‘fine as hell’. Wouldn’t you agree, Przemysław?” Derek chokes, the acidic beverage burning his nasal passageways as it tries to force its way out of his body any way it can. Stiles is no help this time, struggling with his own near asphyxiation as he seems to have inhaled some crumbs unintentionally, thumping on his chest as cookie chunks fly from his mouth. 

“Are you boys alright?” The older woman, though Derek is now questioning her humanity, is still sitting, watching the scene before her with keen eyes and a droll smile as she takes another bite out of her cookie, as though she’d planned the whole thing. 

“Mrs. Claris,” Stiles gasps as soon as he has the air to do so, “is your TV broken or something?”

“Gladys had to cancel on me and my stories have gotten a bit dull.” 

“Out, get out.” Derek’s a little shocked at Stiles’ bluntness, standing and herding the elderly woman toward the door. At least she seems thoroughly amused, smile on her face as she bats away Stiles’ attempt to help her find the door. 

“Just bring the tray back when you’re done,” she says as she steps out the door, “and make sure Derek gets at least one. Don’t want him to lose all of his cushion padding-” Stiles slams the door, face beet red beyond the sunburn as he turns to lean against it. 

“So, ahh, I should get started,” Derek says after a quiet moment, standing from the couch. Stiles gives him a confused look before realization crosses his face and he nods. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll take the tray back, have a talk with Mrs. Claris about boundaries and privacy.”

“Can you carry it, with-”

“I’ll manage,” Stiles mumbles as he plucks the half-empty glass out of Derek’s hands and heads into the kitchen, leaving the werewolf alone in the foyer. 

 

He’s halfway through mowing the front lawn when he realizes he never even washed his hand.

 

______________________________

 

Stiles is picking at his cast when his phone rings, pulling him away from the soothing drone of the lawn mower.

“Stiles’ authentic stolen police badges, how may I help you?”

“ _You know your dad hates that, right?_ ”

“You want how many?”

“ _Stiles! Will you just listen to me?_ ”

“Shoot.”

“ _I can’t come get you for practice. Mom needs me to go up Beacon City with her to check on a patient. I’ll probably be about an hour late_.” There’s a beat of silence, then, “ _Want me to ask Jackson if he can-_ ”

“God no! No, no, it’s fine. I’ll-” he glances out the window, hearing the mower stop, “I’ll think of something.”

“ _You sure? Don’t skip out just cause I’m not there. Coach said you can only miss three more practices-_ ” Stiles snorts.

“It was two last week. Don’t worry man, I’ll be there. You just take care of that gorgeous mother of yours.”

“ _Don’t fake hit on my mom, it’s creepy._ ”

“Who’s faking?” He says, and is answered by the dial tone. He stands and stretches before meandering over to the back door, watching Derek push the mower back into the shed. He slips out and pads barefoot across the freshly cut grass, clippings sticking to his toes and ankle as he makes his way across the lawn. When he gets to the shed he finds Derek sweeping up the dust and grass he’d tracked in, and Stiles wants to wreck him. 

“Hey- _oomph_ ,” is all he’s able to get out before Stiles attacks his mouth, slipping his good hand underneath his shirt. They kiss for a few more seconds before Derek pulls back.

“You know, this is probably why Mrs. Claris thinks there’s something going on between us.” The word is like a punch in the gut. _Thinks_. Stiles drops his hands and steps back.

“Yeah.” He’d ding-dong-ditched the tray, not ready to face Mrs. Claris’ knowing grin and teasing questions. Especially not when he didn’t have any snarky answers to give. 

“Did you- does anybody else know?” Stiles tries to read Derek’s face, figure out if it’s fear or hope lining his eyes, but comes up empty. 

“No,” he answers truthfully. He hadn’t told Scott anything, didn’t want to get his hopes up in case this all turned out to be nothing. He should just bite the bullet and tell Derek, tell him he wants this to be _something_ , not just a quick fling in the back of the shed. Tell him that he’s been interested in him for years. Tell him that if he’d just give Stiles a chance, he’d make him feel _so good_.

Instead, all that comes out is-

“Can you drive stick?”

 

______________________________

It’s surreal, sitting in the driver’s seat of the blue jeep, the scent of Stiles so strong he might as well have been sitting on his lap. The thought makes Derek blush, which he tries to hide by checking his mirrors for the fourth time in the last minute. 

“Don’t think the mailbox is going to jump out at you,” Stiles teases from the passenger seat. Derek grumbles and rolls his eyes but finally puts the vehicle in reverse. It jumps a little, making his heart rachet up a notch and his hands to go clammy. He resolutely does not look at Stiles as he takes a breath to calm himself down. He goes again, only to stall out once more.

“You sure you know how to handle a stick?” Nervousness turns to vague annoyance as he turns to Stiles, glancing from his crotch to his face.

“You weren’t complaining earlier.” At that Stiles goes a bit red, fighting off a grin as he swivels around to face the windshield. Feeling smug, Derek cracks his neck and puts the car into reverse, peeling out of the driveway so fast Stiles has to grab the dashboard . 

“Did I tell you my mom drives a Camaro?” He asks nonchalantly before revving the engine, shifting into first gear, and driving safely and steadily toward the school. 

“I thought you said she drives a Camaro?” Stiles groans as they practically inch through the subdivision.

“Yeah, you think I’d chance scratching that thing? Have you _met_ my mother?”

“Not yet,” the silence that stretches is filled with pounding hearts and sweating palms. Derek stares forward, licking his suddenly dry lips as he watches mailboxes and trees go by.

“We’re having lamb chops tonight, if you want to come over.” The words are out before he can think on them too much, body tense as he waits for Stiles’ reaction. There’s a scent he can’t place and a quiet, “Okay” that sounds uncertain but… pleased, which relaxes him a bit. 

However, the tension surges back in as they roll up to the school. Derek can see all the players warming up on the field, can smell the sweat and hear the shouts as a couple spot the blue jeep. Knowing he can physically outrun or out-punch any of them does nothing to settle his nerves (not that his mother would let him get away with anything like that anyway). As far as the high school hierarchy goes Derek is at the bottom of the barrel, with no club or posse to boost his social standing. He’s a lone wolf, literally as it were, and feels each pair of eyes settle on him as he slips out of the jeep. He tries not to cringe at the whispered “ _Who the holy hell is that?_ ” as he walks around to the back, shoulders hunched as he opens the rear door to retrieve Stiles’ gear. 

“Thanks man, I got it,” Stiles says from his side, reaching over with his good hand to grab the straps of his bag. Derek nods, stepping back awkwardly while trying not to give into the temptation of running into the preserve. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now - he can’t abandon Stiles with the jeep, but he’s not sure if Stiles wants him to stay. He’s guessing the only people who sit around and watch practice are the players’ girlfriends, so if he stuck around the implication would be pretty clear. 

“I can’t promise it’ll be exciting, but you should- you could stay, if you want.” Stiles shoulders the pack, crosse gripped loosely in his left hand, and when he turns around it’s definitely hope etched across his face. Derek smiles and nods, pocketing the keys and grabbing the remaining arm guards before slamming the door shut, following Stiles to the benches. There’s a handful of girls and a couple of guys scattered around the aluminum seats, chatting or reading or playing on their phone. A girl he recognizes from math class smiles and waves at him, which he returns tentatively, before helping Stiles get geared up.

“I know it’s not as fancy as a bag of beans, but it works,” Stiles grunts as Derek tightens the armguards around his forearm. Derek hums in response before ducking down to make sure his shoelaces are tight enough. 

“Dude, you’re killing me.” Derek looks up to find Stiles staring at him, hands clenched into tight fists. He cocks an eyebrow, which only seems to frustrate the other boy further, making him close his eyes and bite his lip. “Do not make me run around that track with a boner.” Derek can’t help the laugh he lets out, giving the laces a firm tug before standing up again, bringing them face-to-face. He’s so tempted to lean in, give Stiles a little peck, and actually bolsters up the courage to just go for it when Stiles opens his eyes.

And jumps back about a foot.

“ _Wouldja_ , wow, I was _not_ expecting you to be right there.” The color drains from Derek’s face as he takes in Stiles’ wild eyes, darting around the field, probably making sure no one saw them.

“Sorry. I’m just gonna, I’ll wait here, I guess.” He turns in a hurry, scrambling up the bleachers, metal clanging under his feet. There’s a knot in his stomach as he prays no one had seen what he’d done, or made any assumptions if they had. The last thing he needs is to start senior year as the class joke, the nerd pining after the jock. What a cliche. He ignores Stiles’ shout of his name, too nervous to turn and face him, and climbs another level up before settling on the blazing hot seat and focusing as hard as he can on the sounds of the preserve as the players start to run around the track.

______________________________

 

Stiles’ heart is practically beating out of his chest. Had he just jumped away from a kiss? Was Derek going to kiss him? In public? In front of _everyone_? Does this mean he’s ready? Are they a thing now? _Why did he jump away?_ And where does Derek think he’s going?

“Derek!” He shouts weakly, watching the other boy clamber up the bleachers. He’s about to shout again, maybe just climb up after him, when a whistle sounds from down the field. He attempts to ignore it, getting one foot on the bleachers, when he hears it again, louder and shriller than before. He turns cautiously to find Finstock stomping toward him, eyes blazing, whistle already poised for another ear-splitting blow.

“I’m going!” Stiles hollers over his shoulder, scrambling away from the bleachers, tripping over his feet as he starts running around the field. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the team to catch up to him, lapping him as he finds his stride. He can’t help but shoot glances up at the bleachers, watching the lone dark head at the upper right corner. He imagines Derek coming to the next practice, his first game, cheering for him like Lydia used to cheer for Jackson. Being able to run up and kiss him after scoring the winning goal at the championship game-

“STILES!” He stumbles, pulling himself out of the fantasy to realize he’s run heinously off course, heading toward the preserve instead of curving with the field. He turns to see Kira jogging after him, confused look on her face. “Where are you-”

She’s cut off by a piercing whistle, and Stiles internally vows to break every damned whistle within the tri-county area.

“GET YOUR DAMN HEAD IN THE GAME, STILINSKI!” Coach bellows from across the field. Stiles is so tempted to point out that there is no game right now, but Kira saves him from running suicides for the rest of his life by dragging him back to the field by his elbow. Once they’ve got a good pace going she starts in again.

“So what happened? Why were you making a break for the woods?”

“Haven’t you ever felt the need to commune with nature?”

“Stiles.”

“Fine,” he pants a little, rounding into his third lap, “I was just… thinking.”

“About?”

“Something other than lacrosse.” Kira just smirks a little as she hip checks him and runs ahead, only to pace back seconds later.

“That guy you brought?” Stiles loses his footing, stumbling forward and catching himself just in time. Kira’s grinning ear to ear now as she looks from Stiles to the stands. “The dark one in the corner?” 

“Well, I mean technically he brought me.” She rolls her eyes, smile never leaving her face as she turns her focus back on Derek. 

“He’s cute.”

“We’re 100 yards away!”

“I’ve got good eyes,” she throws him a wink before sprinting ahead, finishing her final lap just as Stiles starts his. He picks up the pace, knowing Finstock is more than a little frustrated with him at this point, and figures it won’t do him any favors to piss him off further. Plus, there’s nothing like getting berated by your coach in front of the guy you’ve been pining over. 

By the time he makes it back to the team they’ve broken into small groups. Danny and Jameson wave him over, and he groans while simultaneously trying to loosen up his muscles, rolling his neck and bouncing his shoulders as he walks toward the goal.

“Ready for round two?” Jameson asks as he secures his massive gloves and takes up his crosse. 

“I don’t think I ever recovered from round one,” he admits, flexing his still-sore arms as he looks around for his bag, before remembering he left it by the bleachers. By Derek. _Perfect._ “Ah shit, left my stuff by the stands, I’ll be-”

“I got it,” Danny cuts in, “You need to finish warming up.” And damnit, he’s right, but he really needs to talk to Derek. Or maybe just grab him and kiss him in front of everybody, actions being louder than words and whatnot. He watches Danny jog off forlornly before Jameson literally pulls his attention, tugging his arm back to give it a good stretch. After about a minute of jumping jacks he lets his gaze wander back to the bleachers, where his stomach immediately clenches. Danny’s still there, halfway up the stands, dimpling at Derek, _his Derek_ , who is smiling back, blushing even, and god, how did it come to this? Ten minutes ago he was a breath away from kissing Derek in public, and now he’s about to lose him to Danny ‘Everyone Loves Me’ Mahealani in the final round? The fuck?

“STILES!” He jerks at Jameson’s shout, and realizes he’d stopped moving completely for a full minute. “Dude, what’s with you today?”

“I-” before he can come up with a plausible excuse Danny comes sauntering back, Stiles’ bag hanging loosely from his hand, grin on his infuriatingly good-looking face. 

“Here you go, man,” he hands the crosse to him before throwing another glance back at the bleachers. Stiles snatches the handle - a little too forcefully - glaring daggers at the unbeknownst interloper. 

“Can we play, please?” Jameson begs, and soon Stiles is taking out all his aggression and anxiety on Danny, or, well, the six foot radius surrounding Danny, as it seems his aim hasn’t improved much in the last two days. 

“Better, good strength, remember your wrist-” Jameson is mumbling, adjusting Stiles’ form from time to time, strong hands gripping his shoulder, positioning his waist. He whoops and Stiles cackles when a ball sails right past Danny and into the net. 

“Yes! I am amazing!” Stiles thrusts both hands into the air as Danny pulls his faceguard up.

“Sorry, got a little distracted.” He’s looking past Stiles, warm smile on his face, and Stiles suppresses the urge to punch him. Because the fact is, he and Derek never talked about being in a relationship, or exclusivity, or where any of this was going. For all Stiles knows he’s just the practice round before heading off to the big leagues. 

“Who are you even flirting with?” Jameson asks, looking back and forth from the bleachers to Danny. 

“I’m not sure,” Stiles’ jaw drops, “said he was here with a friend. Looks familiar, but I can’t place where.”

“He’s Derek Hale,” both boys whip their heads around to look at Stiles. “He’s in our class.”

“Hale? Really?” Danny looks back over, giving obvious elevator eyes, “Didn’t he used to be kinda nerdy?”

“Well, I mean, he still is,” Stiles thinks fondly back on them snarking back and forth about Marvel vs DC and the benefits of reading A Song of Ice and Fire rather than just watching Game of Thrones (Stiles had been _amazed_ to find Derek hadn’t read them and refused to until the show was over). 

“I take it you’re the friend?” Jameson asks, eyes twinkling. Stiles shrugs, the word ‘friend’ stinging more than it should.

“Apparently so.” 

“What’s that sup-” Jameson is cut off by a screech of the whistle and Coach’s bellowing voice.

“SCRIMMAGE, red versus white, let’s go! Stilinski! You’re coaching for red, let’s see what you got.” Danny and Jameson, both wearing white, cuff Stiles’ shoulders as they walk by, Danny turning back to shout, “Give him my number, if he asks,” before securing his helmet and jogging off. Stiles glares after him, grumbling a bit as he shuffles his stuff back over to the bleachers and takes up the clipboard, letting out another groan as he sees today’s red team is comprised mostly of freshmen. Damn Finstock.

“Okay puppies,” Stiles pulls the marker top off with his mouth and begins to draw roughly over the whiteboard, talking around the marker cap as best he can. He looks up to see a pile of confused faces and groans, tossing his head back to blow the cap into the air before catching it easily in his left hand. 

“Liam, you’re covering Jackson. Make sure you flank his right side cause he’s a Zoolander-”

“A _what_?” 

“Oh my god, what are they teaching you kids? He never turns left. Ger, you’re on goal, I haven’t seen you miss a catch once, plus you run like a duck. Nate, you’re defense for Liam, and just be glad Scott’s not back yet, cause we might actually have a shot at this.” He rattles off a few more positions and crudely demonstrates the plays one more time before Finstock whistles again. 

“You got this! You got this! They don’t got this,” Stiles flinches as Wachowski is veritably bulldozed by a couple of seniors within seconds of getting the ball. Finstock’s laughter carries across the whole field, and not for the first time Stiles wonders if the man is a masochist.

They’re fifteen minutes in, score 3 to 0, when the bleachers start to tremor. Stiles glances back to see Derek nimbly making his way down, and feels his gut clench. He’s probably going to let him know he’s leaving, and that he can’t be associated with someone so pathetic, and they should probably find a new lawn guy, and what was that Hawaiian god’s number? 

“Number 19 has a tell,” is what he says instead, settling into the space next to him. Stiles looks over, mouth gaping a bit as he watches Derek’s eyes dart all over the field. “There, whenever he’s about to feign a right, he wiggles his left elbow.” Stiles scrunches his eyebrows as he tries to follow Derek’s observation, and, sure enough, power runner Jameson is broadcasting his fakeouts. 

“Whoa! How did you- I didn’t even think you _liked_ lacrosse!” 

“I don’t,” Derek confesses, glancing down, “I like you.” Stiles is a second away from grabbing that boy and kissing him breathless when that _motherfucking whistle_ blows from across the field. 

“STILINSKI! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? WE GOT A GAME GOING ON OUT HERE! STILINSKI!”

“O-KAAY!” Stiles hollers as he turns back, mouth and eyes as wide as they can go. He’s surprised when Derek continues to sit next to him rather than running for the hills like any other sane person (he didn’t miss the brunette at the end of the row scooting a foot or so away). 

After another minute of watching and evaluating, Stiles calls a time-out, alerting his makeshift team to Jameson’s tell as well as Greenberg’s tendency to hesitate and look down just before passing to Jackson. He switches positions, adjusts plays, and jumps up in triumph when Nate actually intercepts the ball and hauls ass down the field, passing to Liam just before getting overtaken by some older players. Liam dodges Jameson like a pro and gets to the goal, where he takes careful aim - and is blocked by Danny. 

“He’s good,” Derek comments, and Stiles feels a knot form in his gut as the goalie looks towards the stands - towards them - and nods. Stiles is almost positive he’s winking, but his face is too obscured by the guard to be sure. 

“He’s okay,” Stiles grits out, formulating a new plan of attack on his whiteboard. He knows it’s petty, but he really, really wants to get at least one past Danny. 

With Derek’s newly discovered freak talent they identify three more weak points from the opposing team, and Stiles puts together a killer play, calling for a time-out with seven minutes left in the game. He explains the plan twice, eyes shining in genuine excitement as the players nod around him, and it’s like he can feel their renewed energy coursing through the air, right into his limbs. There’s a surprising feeling of pride settling in his chest as he watches his baby-faced team run onto the field, positioning themselves just like he showed them. 

Finstock whistles.

The play runs better than Stiles had dared to hope. Liam skirts around players, passes to Jermaine with Nate barreling into the defense, keeping them from his runner. Even Derek, who’d been quiet and observant the whole time, is up on his feet, shouting for the red team as they execute each move flawlessly, up to the last pass to Liam, who, without hesitation, slings the ball right into the goal.

“YESSS!” Stiles thrusts both arms into the air, and lets his casted arm fall heavily across Derek’s shoulders, “You,” he gives him a quick peck on the lips, “you are _amazing_. How did you see-” he stops at the surprised look on Derek’s face, and just then realizes what he’d done. With wide eyes he turns back to the field, where he remembers there’s still a game to finish. Liam’s giving him a sly grin as he runs backwards into position, making exaggerated kissy faces until he nearly flips over Greenberg and is forced to turn around. Stiles runs a hand across his mouth and overheated cheek, afraid to turn and be confronted by Derek’s face.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, still focused on the field, heart pattering away, “I got over-”

“Did you mean it?” Derek cuts in, and Stiles hazards a look. His face is surprisingly open and vulnerable, eyes darting between Stiles’ face and chest.

“Like, did I mean to kiss you, just now, in front of the whole lacrosse team?” Derek gives a nearly imperceptible nod, and Stiles lets out a long breath. “Yeah.”

______________________________

 

Derek’s heart stops, then speeds up so fast he thinks his chest is vibrating with it. Stiles kissed him. In front of everyone. On purpose. He feels dizzy.

“I- that’s good.” Is all he manages to say before he breaks out into a smile and looks down, letting his heart get back to normal before it explodes on him and all of this was for naught. Stiles doesn’t say anything, but his heartbeat is tripping all over the place, and he smells… happy, if Derek were to hazard a guess. Even better than he did in the tool shed that first time. 

“Good,” Stiles finally responds, before shifting back to looking at the field, and Derek can practically _hear_ the smile on his face. 

“If I help you get another point, will you kiss me again?” Stiles snorts, and Derek can’t help but look over to see the flush creeping up the other boy’s cheeks.

“It’s a distinct possibility, yeah.”

So with a minute forty left, Derek and Stiles put together a new play that takes advantage of Jackson’s weak left side, Greenberg’s slow turn, and Danny’s tendency to focus more to the right. Derek can’t help but notice that Stiles was spot on with his previous nomenclature, the young team practically wagging their tails in excitement as Stiles goes over the play. He half expects them to yip before running back to the field. 

The whistle blows, and Derek can honestly say he’s never been as invested in lacrosse, or any sport, as he is right now, watching nervously as the play begins to unfold. He’d never really thought of it from this angle - the strategy, the configuration. He’d always assumed it was just a bunch of meatheads smacking each other with sticks. But watching Stiles now, seeing his eyes light up as his unseasoned team runs circles around veteran players twice their size, he can understand why he loves it. Like being part of a cohesive pack, working together to take on a bigger threat, it’s more about intelligence than raw strength. Though - he glances at Stiles’ broad chest and biceps - it certainly doesn’t hurt to have both. They each hold their breath as Jurrell zips the ball over to Wachowski, who feigns a pass to Liam and instead turns and whips his stick as hard as he can toward the left side of the net. Danny lunges, but falls short an inch, ending the game with a score of five to two. 

“FUCK YES!” Stiles screams, shocking Derek - they’re still on school property and Finstock is _right there_ \- before he’s grabbed up and hit with a chaste - if not a bit slobbery - number right on the lips. In front of God, Jackson, and everybody.

“Way to go coach, do we all get one?” Liam asks as he shakes out his hair, sweaty from the helmet. Stiles shoots him a disgusted look before laying one more peck on Derek. 

“Seriously, you’re amazing, and I think Coach might try to recruit you, so you’ll probably want to go hide in the jeep.” As if on cue, Finstock comes storming across the field, face a mixture of murderous and proud.

“STILINSKI! What in God’s name-, is that a Hale? Where the hell-”

“Run.” Stiles whispers before grabbing up his bag and hightailing it toward the cars. Derek, a little shell-shocked, snags Stiles’ crosse before following, stifling a manic laugh at Finstock’s bellows behind him. He forgets himself for a minute and actually beats Stiles to the car, tossing the lacrosse stick in the back before climbing into the driver’s seat, still high off adrenaline as he fishes the keys out of his pocket. He hears Stiles slide his bag in just as there’s a knock on his window. He’s surprised to see Danny on the other side, grin on his face.

“Hey, a bunch of us are headed to Freddy’s for some wings. You guys wanna come?” Before he can answer the passenger side door opens and Stiles is hauling himself in one-handed, which does absolutely magnificent things for his upper body.

“Can’t,” he says simply, leaning over and slinging his good arm around Derek’s shoulders, “we’ve got dinner plans.” Derek gives him an incredulous look, surprised he’d remembered the haphazard invite to dinner.

“Rain check, then,” Danny smiles as he backs away, “Good catch, Stilinski. Sorry about earlier.”

“No problem, can’t blame you,” the other boy responds with a wink, and Derek’s cheeks burn with the memory of Danny’s not so subtle flirting and Stiles’ subsequent reaction. Never in a million years did he think he’d have anyone on the lacrosse team looking his way, let alone two. Danny waves and heads toward a gaggle of players as Derek nods and starts up the car, Stiles’ arm still a possessive weight on his shoulders. 

“Was all that okay?” Stiles asks, hold loosening as he slides back into his seat. “I mean, if you’d rather-”

“No, it’s great,” Derek glances at the clock - quarter to five. His parents shouldn’t be home for another half hour or so. “Want me to drop you off so you can shower, pick you up around six thirty?”

“Works for me. And just so we’re clear, this is a meet-the-parents dinner, right? As like, your boyfriend? I mean, if not, that’s fine, this- we can take it slow, no problem, I just-” Derek leans over and kisses him, effectively stopping him mid-sentence, and hopefully answering his question. When he pulls back Stiles is smiling, eyes soft, gazing at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. 

“What?”

“You’ve never kissed me before.” Derek can’t help but scowl at him.

“Yes I have, we kissed like five minutes ago-”

“No, I mean yeah, but _you’ve_ never kissed _me_ before. It’s always been me starting things,” he gently cups his cheek, “It’s just... good to know you’re actually interested.” Derek blinks in surprise; he never thought there was any question in whether he was interested or not. 

“I invited you to my house, to meet my _mother_.” He starts to lean in, “I’d say I’m very interested.” Stiles grins and moves forward to meet him, and is interrupted by someone laying on the horn.

“GET THE *** _BEEEEEP_ *** OFF THE FIELD, FOR GOD’S SAKES!” Stiles snorts out a laugh and sticks his head out the door.

“SORRY COACH!” He shouts back, before pulling himself back in and patting Derek on the knee, “Let’s go.” 

 

______________________________

Derek drops Stiles and the jeep off at the Stilinski house, despite Stiles’ insistence that he could use the jeep, and speeds home on his bike. He figures not only will it be good to work off some energy, but he can also probably convince his mom to let him pick Stiles up in the Camaro.

It’s a little unsettling that their first ‘date’ is going to be at Derek’s house, with his parents and nosy sister. Not exactly what he’d been hoping for, but maybe it’s better this way, like ripping off a bandaid (and yes, he’d worn bandaids. It’s impossible to be a kid on the playground without scuffing a knee, and he’d been taught to suppress the healing until after the playground attendant secured a bandage over the wound, which he then ripped off as soon as he could. Healing factor or not, that shit hurt). Besides, Derek was already well acquainted with the Sheriff, it was only fair Stiles know his family. 

He dumps his bike at the front walkway and without missing a beat leaps up the porch steps, three at a time. He’s surprised to find his dad is already home, seasoning the lambchops in the kitchen with the radio blasting oldies from across the room. 

“There enough for one more?” Derek says by way of greeting. His dad tosses him a look over his shoulder, never pausing in his preparation.

“Could be, your mom always thaws enough to feed a small army,” he slaps two more chops onto the cutting board, “who’s coming?”

“Um, Stiles Stilinski.”

“The Sheriff’s boy?”

“Yeah.”

“The one you’ve been jogging with?”

“Yes.”

“The one you have a huge crush on?”

“Dad…”

“What, I just want to make sure I’m thinking of the right one.” James looks over with a gleam in his eye reserved for fathers messing with their kids. “Do we need to be on our best behavior?” Derek lets out a measured breath.

“I’d rather not have my first boyfriend run screaming from the house, so yes, that would be preferred.” James actually stops doctoring the marinade to look at his son head on.

“Really? Boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Even though he’s human?”

“Dad, you’re human.”

“And look at what a mess that turned out to be.” He turns to the counter, setting the cuts of lamb in the marinade, hunching his back and grunting as he hauls up the tray and carries it over to the fridge. Derek rolls his eyes, knowing how much his dad likes to play up the ‘fragile human’ card even though he’s strong and fast and somehow still manages to hear everything he or his sisters mutter under their breath and know exactly when they’re lying, superior senses be damned. 

“I said I’d get him at 6:30. Do you think dinner will be ready by then? Do we have enough time for a dessert? Or should I just scrap the whole thing and take him out instead?” Derek tries to keep the exasperation and anxiety out of his voice, but has a feeling he failed magnificently. James finishes washing his hands, drying them methodically before turning once more, all traces of teasing replaced by a soft smile. 

“6:30, huh? I think that should be just enough time to make a chocolate peanut butter torte for dessert.” Derek’s ears perk up at that. It’s his mother’s all time favorite dessert, only made for special occasions, and to the Hales it’s as good as placing a giant sign that says _BEHAVE_ across the dining room. 

“But-” James pulls open the drawer to his left and without looking plucks out a spatula, presenting it to him as though it were a sacred sword, “you, my son, must make it.” 

 

______________________________

 

By the time Talia gets home Derek is covered with a fine layer of confectioner’s sugar, beating the torte filling by hand as he waits for the crust to finish cooling. She gives him a surprised look, taking in the ingredients spread across the kitchen counter and his fervored state. It only takes her a span of about twenty seconds to put it all together.

“So, what time is Stiles coming over?” Derek stops whipping long enough to look up at his mother and brush some powdered sugar off his forehead with the back of his hand. It doesn’t help.

“6:30, I told him I’d pick him up,” he hesitates for a second before going back to rapidly stirring the contents of the bowl, “I was hoping-”

“Yes, you can use the Camaro,” she goes around the counter and gives him a quick kiss on the forehead, smacking her lips at the sugar before adding, “just make sure you take a shower first.” He gives her a smile and a nod as he sets the bowl down, sprinkling a few crushed peanut butter cups into the mix before giving it a couple more easy stirs and pouring it into the cookie shell.

“How you get all that junk past an alpha werewolf…” she mutters before leaning in to give her husband a kiss. James smiles into it, cradling the back of her head while Derek pretends to be engrossed in scraping the sides of the bowl, getting every miniscule drop into the pan. He’s often wondered how exactly his dad sneaks his illicit processed treats into the house, but it really fell in his favor this time. He covers the torte and sets it in the freezer to chill as he runs upstairs to get ready. 

The shower barely lasts two minutes as Derek hastily wipes down, hitting the important areas before leaping out and toweling off as fast as he can. By the time he gets back to his bedroom Laura’s already sitting on his bed, flipping through a comic book.

“Out, get out.”

“I’m here to help.”

“Nope. Out.”

“C’mon Der,” she tosses the comic book behind her, much to Derek’s dismay and outreaching hand, “we both know that you’re going to spend ten minutes looking through everything you own, ten minutes silently freaking out, and then the last five begging me for guidance anyway. So let’s just jump to that part so you have an extra twenty to worry about what slow-mix jam to seduce Stiles with post dinner.” Derek scrunches up his face as his ears burn. 

“How did you even know-” Laura’s scoff cuts him off.

“Like Dad could keep that secret. He practically shouted it at me when I opened the door,” she hauls herself off the bed and heads for his closet, tossing things back at him as she rifles through. He bats a few shirts away one handed, while a pant leg to the face nearly causes him to lose the tenuous grip he has on his towel.

“Laura!”

“Ugh, remind me to take you shopping before school starts. When did you even- how old is this? Freshman year? Eighth grade? Seriously…” she burrows further in, and Derek didn’t even know he had this many clothes to begin with, let alone that were completely unsuitable. He takes this chance to at least slip on some boxers, lest she start whipping shoes at him next. 

In a matter of minutes she’s nearly emptied his closet and dresser, contents tossed messily into three separate piles: ‘keep’, ‘give away’, and ‘dear god just burn it’. He stares bleakly at the meager ‘keep’ pile and knows where most of his summer job money is going.

“Okay, not much to work with, but I think we can manage one night,” Laura holds a plain green button-up against a couple of his nicer t-shirts, pursing her lips thoughtfully, eyes darting between them until she tosses the t-shirts back into the pile, grabs up his one pair of dark jeans (without holes) and lays the ensemble in his arms. 

“Wear this with a plain undershirt. Find a belt, tuck it in, and I’ll fix the sleeves for you when you’re done.”

“Fix the sleeves?” 

“Just trust me. And keep next Wednesday open, cause this,” she waves her hand at the mess on the floor, “is just sad.” Derek’s about 90% sure he doesn’t actually have a choice, so he just nods and kicks the door shut behind Laura’s retreating form. With a put-upon sigh he starts getting dressed, hoping everything still fits. He’s pretty sure the last time he saw this particular shirt was winter solstice, and he remembers it being uncomfortable, a little tight in places. With a grimace he slips his arms through the sleeves - so far so good - and starts to button from the bottom up. The fabric pulls a little at his shoulders, but overall seems to fit him pretty well, no snugging around his stomach like he remembers. The jeans, however, ride high on the ankle and are awkwardly loose in places. But he also knows they’re his best option, so he tucks his shirt in - something he’s generally loath to do - adjusts his belt with the burnished silver buckle, and with a deep breath opens the door and heads down the stairs. 

He only makes it halfway before Laura’s on him, pursing her lips and looking him over before shaking her head and tugging him back up.

“Those jeans. Not on my watch,” he’s surprised when he’s tugged past his bedroom to hers, where he’s shoved toward the bed while she goes to the closet, burrowing in so far he can’t see her anymore. 

“Laura, what-” 

“Ah ha!” a muffled voice calls out, followed by a hand thrust triumphantly through the barrier of cloth clutching a worn pair of skinny jeans. 

“What are you- no, no way,” he starts to make his escape when she pounces, knocking him to the ground, looking feral with her hair all static-y wild and a gleam in her eye.

“Come on, I bet they fit you!”

“I’m not wearing your pants on my first date!” He struggles underneath her, moves inhibited by the more restrictive clothing he’s wearing.

“Just _try_ them. I promise if you don’t think they look better you can wear the high waters.” Derek narrows his eyes, knowing there’s only one way he’s getting out of this, and mutters, “ _Fine_ ,” while grabbing the pants out of her clutches. With a delighted squee she jumps up and exits the room, body thumping against the closed door as though to make sure he doesn’t escape. Derek sighs and strips off the admittedly uncomfortable jeans, but can’t bring himself to put on Laura’s pants right away. He’s always been a little tubbier than her, and can’t imagine he’ll be able to get those things over his thighs, let alone button them. 

“I don’t hear you trying things on~” Laura sings out, rapping on the door a few times. Derek grits his teeth and steps into the pant legs, tugging them up and over his calves. They’re tight, but not uncomfortably so, and he gulps before shimmying them the rest of the way over his thighs. With a grunt he pulls them all the way up, and is amazed to find he’s just able to zip and button. He takes a second to look at himself in her full-length mirror, noticing how the dark jeans hug pretty much every part of his lower body, and he feels more exposed than when he’d been standing in his boxers. He’s about to take them off when Laura busts in, wolf-whistling.

“Daaaaaamn son, so glad I didn’t toss those, you look hot!” She shoots him a toothy grin, making him roll his eyes. “What, you don’t like them?” He glances down and shrugs.

“At least they’re longer.” 

“I promise, one day you’ll thank me. Now let’s do up the rest of you…” Laura turns into a tornado of hands and fingers, tucking this, twisting that, unbuttoning and rebuttoning, fluffing up his hair with god-knows-what. He should probably be paying better attention but his survival instincts tell him to just close his eyes and wait it out, listening haphazardly to Laura muttering to herself as she treats him like her personal dress-up doll. 

“Okay,” her hands fall away from his hair, “take a look, Cinderella,” she bodily turns him so he’s facing the mirror, and he literally jerks away from the reflection before leaning in closer. He barely looks like himself, wearing form-fitting clothes, hair artfully ruffled instead of flat to his head or cowlicked out of compliance, Laura had even smoothed down his eyebrows so they didn’t look quite as bushy. 

“Stop frowning, you look good!” 

“I’m not frowning. I’m... inspecting.”

“Well stop, it’s giving you wrinkles,” she presses her finger to the crease between his eyebrows, making him blink and back away. “Seriously, Der, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” Her voice is softer than he’s expecting and he takes a breath and nods, glancing at the clock on her dresser. Five after six. His palms start sweating. 

“I should probably…” he trails off, eyes darting between the clock and the door. Is he really doing this?

“Go,” Laura nudges him with her shoulder, “Dad and I’ll finish dinner. Go get yo man,” it’s just teasing enough to make him roll his eyes, but he’s grateful for the familiarity as he trots down the stairs and toward the front door, grabbing the Camaro keys off the hook.

“Back in a bit!” He calls out behind him just before he shuts the door.

______________________________

Stiles is pacing, phone in his left hand as he debates calling Lydia for the fourth time in an hour. She’d face-timed him through his wardrobe, his hair, and his cologne choices (of which she was very insistent that Axe was _not_ a suitable substitute and for the love of god, to just borrow something from his dad). His thumb brushes over her name just as he hears the rumble of an engine pulling up the driveway. He quickly shoves the phone into his pocket before running his good hand through his hair, undoubtedly ruining the style Lydia had painstakingly walked him through. He curses under his breath, clenching his fingers and glaring traitorously at them before jumping at the slam of a car door, making his heart beat even harder than before. 

“Oh my _god_ , calm down,” he groans, putting his hand over his heart in an effort to will it into a normal pace. “It’s just dinner with Derek. And his family. His perfect family. Perfect Derek and his perfect fam-” a sharp knock at the door cuts him off, making him jolt forward before steadying himself with a couple of deep breaths and walking to the door with a calm he didn’t actually feel.

“It’s just Derek,” he mutters once more under his breath before swinging the door open and revealing what had to be Derek’s hot older brother he’d never told him about. He blinks a few times, trying to figure out how someone could change so much in so little time. 

Derek’s doing his own share of staring, and Stiles realizes it’s the first time either of them have worn anything besides sweat stained t-shirts and loose shorts all summer. 

“So, we clean up pretty good, huh?” Stiles rasps, voice scratchier than he’d anticipated. “You wanna come in for a second, or-”

“Uh, sure. We’ve got a few minutes,” and of course they do, because Derek is nothing if not perpetually early. Stiles stands back to allow him entrance, and _wow_ , those jeans are doing _fantastic_ things for his ass. He hadn’t even realized Derek really _had_ an ass, what with the baggy shorts and khakis he’d worn at school. He’d always thought the guy was insufferably cute, but now, turns out Derek Hale is a bonafide hottie. Stiles is trying to figure out the best way to tell him that when Derek turns and pushes him against the wall, burying his face against his neck and inhaling deeply. 

“Whoa, what-”

“I’m sorry, you just,” he pulls back a bit, tracing his nose along Stiles’ jaw, “you smell so _good_.” 

“Oh, that’s- it’s my dad’s cologne, Armani, I think he got it-” he’s cut off as Derek slides his mouth over his own, words turning into a needy whine, and if he’d known cologne was _this_ enticing he would have started wearing it forever ago. Just as he’s about to untuck Derek’s shirt the other boy jumps back, turning away from Stiles and hunching his shoulders, taking deep, gasping breaths. Stiles doesn’t know what to do, reaches out a hand to touch his shoulder, but drops it just before he makes contact. 

“Sorry,” Derek shudders out, standing up a bit straighter but still not looking at Stiles, “I got a little carried away there.”

“I didn’t mind,” Stiles consoles, taking a step forward, “I _completely_ didn’t mind.” That gets a light chuckle out of Derek, who finally turns to look at him. There’s a flush high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and if Stiles weren’t 80% sure it would make them late he’d try to kiss him again. 

“We should probably head out. You ready?” He looks Stiles over, who suddenly feels as though he is thoroughly unprepared for an evening with his (as of two hours ago) boyfriend and his _parents_. He pats his pockets and chest out of habit and lets out a huge sigh. 

“I think so. Any advice for impressing the parentals?” Derek grimaces, shaking his head.

“My dad’s weird and my mom’s intense. Let’s just pray we both survive this.”

 

______________________________

 

Stiles can’t resist dancing his fingers around the dashboard, gliding them reverently down the center console, stroking the gear shift until Derek bats his hand away.

“Sorry, but man, this car… if sex were a car, it would be this car.” Derek’s cheeks go pink again as he gets the key into the ignition. 

“So what would that make the Jeep?”

“A dirty handjob in a back alley.” Derek snorts as he puts the car into reverse, the engine purring as he eases out of the driveway and onto the road. Stiles looks at him expectantly, but he just carefully puts it in gear and drives slowly out of the subdivision. 

“Oh come on!”

“Do you really think I’m going to gun it, in my mom’s car, in front of the _sherrif’s_ house?” 

“Well I had hoped.” Derek rolls his eyes and shifts into second.

“Gotta keep something for the second date.” 

“Maybe for our second date we can have a movie night with my babcia.” Derek huffs out a laugh, and Stiles is happy to see some of the tension leave his shoulders as he shifts gears again. “I’m not even kidding, she’d eat you up with a spoon. And she has surprisingly good tastes in movies. She’s seen Fast Five like, ten times.”

“I thought you said _good_ taste in movies.” Stiles’ jaw drops in mock disbelief.

“This car is _wasted_ on you. That’s it, turn around, take me back, and make sure the tires squeal when you do it.” Derek smacks his shoulder before turning out of the subdivision and onto the main town road. It’s another few miles of light banter before he’s making a right into the Preserve, and Stiles realizes he’s never asked where Derek lives, or what his parents do, and how well does he _really_ know Derek, and weren’t there a couple of unsolved murders here a few years back-

“Don’t worry, I’m not driving you out here to kill you,” Derek says, reading his thoughts and taking the curves slowly, “My great-grandparents built the house before Beacon Hills was a township, before the Preserve was actually ‘preserved’.” The sunlight streams through the trees, dappling the car as they follow the surprisingly smooth road further into the woods. “My dad likes to make awful jokes about how we ‘Hale’ from nature, so be ready for that.” They take another turn, and this time Stiles can see a house just in the distance.

As they get closer he realizes ‘house’ is kind of an understatement. It’s more of a sprawling manor, three stories with a wrap around porch, gardens, balconies... not at all what Stiles was picturing from Derek’s story.

“Your great grandparents _built this_?”

“Well, I mean they were younger, and had help,” Stiles is still staring in awe as he steps out of the car. He feels profoundly out of his element, half expecting a butler to come out and valet the car, and jumps a little as he feels Derek’s hand slide into his.

“C’mon.” He tugs a little, leading Derek up the walkway lined with flowers and to the front door, which opens just as they step up to it. 

“You must be Stiles,” the man at the door gives him a smile that borders on creepy, and it takes everything Stiles has to not run screaming back the way he came. A squeeze from Derek’s hand grounds him, and he steadily meets the man’s eyes. 

“Yes sir, pleasure to meet you Mr. Hale.” He loosens his hold on Derek’s hand to offer it to the man, and is thrown by the laugh and light groan he’s met with.

“Oh, I’m not the Mr. Hale you should be worried about impressing,” he takes his hand anyway, and Stiles is again consumed with the need to run, “but it certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

“Okay Peter, that’s enough.” The man - Peter, apparently - backs away with the same smirk and glint in his eye, giving Stiles a once-over before turning his attention to Derek.

“And how’s my favorite nephew? Flaunting the Hale charms, I see-”

“PETER! Leave Derek and his boyfriend alone,” a strong, female voice shouts from inside the house, and is quickly followed by a beautiful middle-aged woman with dark hair, dark eyes, and bone structure that parallels Derek’s so completely she _has_ to be his mother. “Let’s not scare him off until _after_ dessert,” she turns to look at Stiles, “Derek made it, it’s delicious.”

“Mom, can we please just come in?” Derek groans from his left side, and Stiles wants to shoot him a reassuring grin but is whisked down the hall before he has the chance, framed photos blurring in his wake. He’s deposited in a sitting room with two small children wrestling in the corner, a lovely blonde woman, and Laura Hale, Derek’s gorgeous but terrifying older sister. 

“Uh, hi.” He looks behind him, but Derek’s stepped to the side to talk to his mother, voices hushed but a clear look of panic in his eyes as his mother nods calmly. Stiles gulps and turns back to the room, where the two wrestling toddlers have realized someone new has arrived, big eyes zeroed in on him like dogs eyeing a steak. “I’m Stiles.” He swears the one in the pink overalls is licking its lips. 

“Hi Stiles,” Laura scoops up the pink child before it can pounce, “I’m Laura, this is Jamie,” she hoists the child in the air, who is still looking at Stiles like he’s something to gnaw on, “that’s CeeCee,” she nods toward the other child still on the ground, crouching by the other woman’s legs, “and their mom, Helen.” 

“My wife,” says a voice so close to his ear Stiles can’t help the instinctual flail to get away, smacking his casted arm into the wall and inadvertently knocking a picture to the floor. He stares in horror at the shattered glass, arm throbbing in its plaster prison as his heart tries to rabbit out of his chest. 

“I’ll pay for it,” he sputters out, scared to meet Derek or his mother’s eyes, of the disappointment that he’ll undoubtedly find there. 

“Oh thank god, I always hated that frame,” Mrs. Hale says calmly, plucking the photo from the mess of shattered glass. “Laura, please help Helen wash up the twins. Peter,” she sets her glare on the man who has the good sense to shrink a little, “if you’ll _please_ clean up this mess.” There’s a force to her voice that makes Stiles extremely happy he’s not on the receiving end of it. “Derek, please make sure Stiles’ arm is okay, and then help set the table. Stiles,” her voice softens, “I apologize for my brother. We’re still not quite sure what went wrong in his upbringing.” Stiles fights back the smile and nods solemnly. 

“It’s like I was raised by wolves,” the older man snarks as he carries the larger pieces of debris to the trash. Mrs. Hale rolls her eyes, then with a gasp turns to Stiles again.

“I never introduced myself! I’m Talia, Derek’s mother. That’s Peter, my little brother, often referred to as the worst-”

“I heard that!” Peter calls from down the hall, and that’s some pretty impressive hearing-

“And this is Derek’s father, James,” she nods toward the back of the house where a good looking older man is nudging a sliding glass door open with his elbow, arms laden with piles of vegetables and fixings. Derek hurries over to help him, opening the door and taking the tray outside, allowing James to come greet Stiles himself. 

“So you’re the infamous Stiles, huh?” James leans in, feinting a whisper, “Derek talks about you a lot, I think he might have a crush.”

“Dad, I swear to god-”

“Shouldn’t do that son, it’s rude. Now, young man, what’s this I hear about you poking my boy with pencils?”

“ _Mom, make Dad stop!_ ”

“James, my beloved,” Talia places a hand on his shoulder, “let’s let Stiles get settled before the twins think he’s a chew toy. Stiles,” she takes gentle hold of his arm, thumb pressing lightly against the base of his own, “is your arm okay? Any pain?” And in the midst of all the commotion the throbbing must have stopped, because his arm feels better than it has in months.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Sorry again about the picture-”

“Oh please, you did me a favor. My great aunt sent us that hideous thing. It’s a relief to have it off our wall.” She smiles genuinely at him before once again setting her intense glare on Peter. “You, on the other hand, owe me a new frame. One worthy of my babies. Think you can manage that?”

“Yeah, I’ll go dumpster diving later- ahhhh, kidding, kidding!” Stiles bites back his surprise as he watched Talia, in the blink of an eye, get behind Peter and dig her fingers into the back of his neck, making his back bow in submission. 

“Oh my god…” he jerks to see Derek at his side once again, face red as he takes in the display before them, “I- let’s go,” he slips his hand in Stiles’ and gently tugs him back toward the front door. “We can go to a restaurant, or if you’d rather me just take you home I totally understand-”

“What? You want to leave?” Derek lifts his eyebrows and waves a hand toward the rest of the house where his mother still has his uncle in a death grip, a half-naked toddler runs squealing through the living room, and he’s pretty sure a fireball just erupted from the outdoor grill.

“Don’t _you_?” Stiles grins and shrugs.

“It’s like visiting my mom’s side of the family. Seriously, you can come to the next reunion, I guarantee it will be ten times worse than this,” someone somewhere in the house lets out a bellowing howl, “Okay maybe five. But the point still stands,” he laces their fingers together, “If you want to go, we can go, but please don’t think we have to leave on my account.” Derek lets out a sigh and flits his eyes back and forth between the safety of the outside and the untold chaos happening in his house.

“I’m probably going to regret this,” he mutters, shutting the door and walking back down the hallway toward the dining room, Stiles in tow. 

______________________________

“That-” Stiles sighs and leans back from the table, chair scraping against the concrete of the outdoor patio, “was the best- I can’t even tell you the last time I had a meal that good.” Derek buries a smile as he watches his mom throw a nod and a wink toward his dad. His old man beams, and Derek is thanking every deity he’s aware of that this is going well. Even Peter’s behaving now, feeding Jamie while CeeCee continues to hide behind Helen, keeping a wary eye on Stiles. 

“Well I hope you left room for dessert,” his dad stands up, “because Derek made it, and it’s amazing. I may have stolen a piece already.”

“Oh honey.”

“I’m sure I can find some room,” Stiles says, sitting back up and grabbing his fork. Derek’s suddenly nervous - he’d never asked about any allergies, what if Stiles is allergic to peanuts? Or chocolate? No, no he’d seen him eat chocolate chip cookies before, but did they have nuts in them? Has he seen Stiles eat anything with peanut butter? Oh god, what if he kills-

“Calm down,” Laura hisses from beside him, kicking his shin. He looks up to find everyone staring at him, his heart beating much faster than usual. Even Stiles is giving him an inquisitive look. 

“Sorry, I- sorry.” His fingers bite into the meat of his thigh before a warmth steals over them as Stiles gives his hand a firm squeeze. 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he whispers, heart steady as James carries out six plates, balanced expertly across his arms and chest. Stiles gives him a wink as the dessert is set in front of him, and before Derek can say anything he’s shoveling a forkful into his mouth. Derek watches in horror as Stiles’ eyes pop wide open, and is about to shout for an epi-pen when he closes them and lets out a groan so salacious the kids should have been earmuffed. _Derek_ should have probably been earmuffed, with how red his face feels and the alternating stare Laura is giving the both of them. 

“Good?” Peter asks, fork still poised above his own piece, eyeing Stiles in a way that makes everyone uncomfortable. Everyone but Stiles, whose eyes are still shut in a state of blissed out nirvana.

“This is… _omigod_... the best thing… and you… _Derek_!”

“Whoaaa there, should we be hearing this? Someone get the kids out of here.”

“Oh my god…” Derek buries his flushed face in his hands.

“I think we finally found someone who likes this more than Mom.”

“Yes, I dare say we did.” Talia suppresses a grin as she slides her fork through the torte, “I almost feel bad about taking the biggest slice. Almost.” 

“ _Actually I took the biggest piece_ ,” James mock-whispers to Helen, dodging a flying piece of broccoli with practiced ease. Jamie takes that as permission to start throwing his vegetables, and the meal dissolves from there, Laura and James flinging their leftovers, Stiles squawking as he’s brought out of his reverie by a carrot to the temple, then immediately hovering over his dessert like a predator over its kill, hissing at anyone who gets too close. Talia spirits off with hers and Peter’s plates, shoveling in mouthfuls as she’s chased around the yard. Derek stands up to plead for some kind of sanity, and is immediately smacked in the face with a gob of potato salad. 

“Oh forget it,” he flicks a piece of celery out of his eyebrow, grabs his plate and scurries under the table, not at all surprised to find CeeCee already in residence. They share his piece of chocolate peanut butter torte and wait for the pandamonium to die down, CeeCee alternating between staring wide eyed out toward the yard and glaring at Stiles’ jean-clad legs still splayed out from his seat at the table.

“Is he good?” She finally asks, lips rimmed with chocolate. Derek sighs and gives her a little smile.

“Yeah, he is.”

______________________________

 

“Dude, your family’s awesome!” Stiles shouts as he bounces down from the porch step, waving to the toddlers in the window (well, Peter and Jamie, as CeeCee was still likely huddled behind Helen somewhere). He’s got a pile of leftovers cradled in his good arm, ‘ _for the sheriff_ ,’ Talia had said before bestowing him with enough to feed the both of them for days. 

“They’re alright,” Derek responds, but there’s a smile on his face as he opens the door for Stiles before walking over to the driver’s side. Stiles’ heart flutters a little at the thoughtful gesture, slipping in and arranging the tupperware containers in the back seat to give himself optimal leg and arm room. He’s not sure how often Derek will be able to use the Camaro, and he’s determined to enjoy every second of it. 

“So… it’s only 9. You gonna take me up to Quickie-kiss-it Point and make a man outta me?” He will never not love the way Derek’s ears pink at the tips when he’s embarrassed. It’s one of the first things he’d noticed back in their freshman year of high school, after Derek accidentally dumped his books all over the floor while trying to stuff them in his locker. Stiles had wanted to take him home right then and there. Not much has changed.

“I’m pretty sure it’s called Quipiquissit Point.” Derek says, putting the car into gear, but a smile is playing at his lips.

“Really? Maybe we should head over there, just to be sure…” That actually gets a laugh out of him, and Stiles can’t help but preen a little as they roll out of the preserve. 

“I think that’s more of a third date thing,” Derek says, taking the turns easily, and Stiles can’t be sure, but it seems like they’re taking a different route than they came in on. “But, seeing as meeting the family is more of a fifth date thing, I think we’re a little off-schedule,” Stiles blinks, heart ramping up to a stuttering pace. Are they really? Would _Derek Hale_ really…?

“Really?” The easy grin slips off of Derek’s face, and Stiles immediately regrets saying anything. 

“Was that just- do you not want-”

“No I want! I absolutely want! I’ve wanted for like, an embarrassingly long time.” He shifts so he can see Derek more fully, take in all of him at once, “I just, didn’t want to force you, or pressure you-”

“Stiles,” Derek rolls to a stop and puts the car into park, “we’re good.” He leans in, fingers ghosting over the shell of his right ear, making Stiles shiver. He still can’t believe this is actually happening, that his schoolboy crush on the little nerdy kid their freshman year could have possibly bloomed into something that makes his breath catch, his heart beat faster than he thought possible. Their lips are just about to meet when Derek pulls back suddenly, making Stiles’ heart stop.

“Just, no orgasms in the car. My mom will literally smell it and never let me use the Camaro again.” Stiles huffs out a laugh and presses their mouths together, swallowing the light moan Derek lets out while valiantly trying to undo his jeans with one hand. He’s pretty confident he can catch it all; Mrs. Hale will never know. 

______________________________

 

Derek loses driving privileges for a month.

 

It was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING! Hoping for an epilogue including Scott's reaction and the start of school, but making zero promises because life is like that. But it's on my wish list!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like an epilogue that's a third of the length of the whole fic, right?
> 
> I hope it was worth the wait!

“Seriously, I miss _one_ practice, and suddenly you and Derek are an item? And you don’t even _tell me_?” Scott looks overly scandalized, a slightly pixelated palm flat against his heart as he barrels on, “I have to hear it from _Greenberg_ at Freddie’s after asking why you weren’t there.” 

“Sorry man, it all happened pretty fast,” Stiles apologizes as he swivels on his computer chair, clearly not sorry at all. He and Derek are _dating_ , and people _know it_. “And I didn’t want to be one of those kiss-and-tell guys, you know?”

“Yeah, guess I can’t fault you for that.” Scott pauses for a second before letting his eyes light up and a smile overtake his face, “But _dude_! It’s _Derek Hale_ , you’ve liked him _forever_!” He pumps an enthusiastic fist in the air, “This is awesome!” 

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, grin widening as he thinks about Derek and their _relationship_ and suddenly he gets why Scott would wax poetic about Allison all throughout their sophomore year because he can’t stop thinking about kissing him or snuggling up against him or pressing him into the couch and getting his mouth around-

“So you wanna?”

“Huh?” He’s sure his cheeks are flaming red as Scott watches him from the other side of the computer screen.

“Go camping. You can bring Derek, share a tent…” he raises his eyebrows suggestively, making Stiles want to reach through the internet and palm his face. 

“Stop that. And yeah, I’ll ask him. And you’re bringing…?”

“I was thinking of inviting Kira, actually.” Stiles wrinkles his nose.

“But won’t that be weird? You bringing a friend when I’m bringing… OH NO WAY!” He jumps out of his seat, knocking the chair back a few feet, “You’re giving me shit over not telling you about Derek when you’ve been harboring a secret crush on Kira this whole time?” Scott ducks his head down a little, the light from the monitor making it impossible to tell if he’s blushing or not, but Stiles goes ahead and assumes he is. 

“It’s new, and I don’t even know if it’ll go anywhere, but we’re gonna give it a try.” There’s a softness to his smile, a look Stiles hasn’t seen since the early days of Allison, and Stiles can’t begrudge him this, even if he’s terrified at how it might play out on the lacrosse pitch.

“Awesome man,” he rights his chair before flopping back down into it, “nothing like pooping in the woods to bring people closer together.”

______________________________

 

“Camping?” Derek looks up from where he’s fixing the rungs on Mrs. Claris’ ancient patio chairs. He has a sneaking suspicion that she’s running out of tasks for him to do; last week it was rewiring a birdcage that didn’t look like it had held a bird in over a decade. Stiles is sitting helpfully on one of the completed chairs, ‘testing its durability,’ so he says. 

“Yeah, you, me, the stars, a tent, probably a s’more or twelve-” he leans back with a creak that has both boys snapping to attention, barely daring to breathe as they wait to see if the chair will hold. After fifteen seconds with no collapse Derek lets out a breath.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” he reaches for a sun-warmed piece of wrought iron, smile spreading across his face as he lets the idea really sink in, “That sounds _really_ great. Who else is going?”

“Just Scott and Kira, apparently that’s going to be a thing now,” Stiles tosses a nut in the air and catches it easily with his left hand, “I’ll support Scotty in whatever he thinks is right, but I just don’t know about that.” 

“I think they’d make a cute couple,” Derek interjects, grabbing the nut back from him to hold the new bolt in place. 

“I’m not contesting their cuteness, they’d be fucking _adorable_ , but that’s part of the problem. Is he going to be able to treat her the same as any other player during lacrosse? Or is he going to go all ‘boyfriend’ on anyone who goes near her?” Stiles snatches a discarded screw to resume his one-man game of catch.

“Guess you’ll just have to find out,” Derek grunts as he tightens the bolt, making the aged metal groan with his efforts, “don’t stab yourself with that, you don’t need a broken arm and tetanus.” 

“Thanks Doc, I’ll be sure to-” with a groan and snap Stiles is on the ground, wind knocked out of him, wide eyes staring blankly into the sky as Derek scrambles over to his side, heart beating erratically.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” His hand hovers over Stiles’ chest, unsure as to whether he should try to touch him. Stiles blinks and lets out a little wheeze, slowly unclenching his fist to show the screw resting on his palm.

“Well… I didn’t stab myself.” Derek sighs, his heart rate calming at Stiles’ awful joke. He gingerly pets the other boy’s head, glancing at the demolished chair still halfway under him.

“I guess I should tell Mrs. Claris they’re unsalvageable.”

“Yeah… wouldn’t want her breaking a hip, she’s not quite as spry as I am,” Stiles groans out, attempting to pull himself up into a sitting position, which proves difficult as his legs are still flung over the seat of the chair, now tipped backwards. Derek takes pity and helps move him over and sit him up, careful about jostling him too much. 

“You’re kind of a magnet for disaster, aren’t you?” 

“Are you calling yourself a disaster?” 

“Smooth,” Derek grins, leaning in to kiss him. Stiles hums into it, gripping his shirt for leverage as his body rises to meet him, groaning with the effort. Derek pulls back, hand steadying Stiles’ shoulder as he tries to follow. “Seriously, are you okay?” 

“Just a little sore, I’ll be fine for this weekend though, no worries.” Derek pales, arm dropping.

“Wait, _this_ weekend?”

“Yeah, camping, remember?” Stiles sits up, rubbing at his lower back, “We literally just talked about it.”

“You didn’t say when,” Derek feels his stomach drop, “It’s a- I have a… family thing this weekend.” Stiles opens his mouth but shuts it before saying anything, like he wants to argue but doesn’t want to belittle Derek’s family. “Believe me, if I could get out of it I would…” 

“No, it’s okay, maybe some other time,” and god, he looks so _dejected_ , Derek is almost ready to tell him the truth right there. It’s literally on the tip of his tongue before Stiles schools his expression and gives him an understanding smile, “Really, enjoy your family time. We still have a few weeks until school starts. We’ll do something later.” He makes to stand, but Derek grabs his shoulders and drags him into another kiss, pouring all of his regret and want and gratitude into it. Stiles surges forward, hand slipping into his hair as his casted arm wraps awkwardly around his waist, pulling their bodies closer together. Derek is ready to drown in this boy - the taste, the feel, the scent of him overpowering every other sensation. Which is why he has both hands underneath Stiles’ shirt before he registers the throat-clearing noises coming from the patio. He jerks away, leaving Stiles gaping like a fish as he looks up to find Mrs. Claris standing at her door, coffee in hand and a smug look on her face.

“Oh don’t stop on my account,” she says, taking a pointed sip, “though I’m probably not paying you enough for whatever show you’re about to put on.” Both boys scramble to stand, Derek hauling Stiles up by his good arm to help conceal his raging boner, while Stiles awkwardly keeps his cast in front of his pants. 

“Uh, your chair broke,” Stiles says, shooting a panicked look back at Derek before facing his neighbor once again. She gives them a toothy grin, wizened eyes twinkling in the late-morning light.

“And I wonder how _that_ happened.” 

“We’re innocent on that!” Derek starts, but Stiles elbows him lightly in the gut, much to Mrs. Claris’ amusement. She chuckles into her coffee mug before looking up and giving them a genuine smile.

“You boys keep me young. Go, have fun, it’s too hot to work today anyway.” She waves her hand in a shooing motion before slipping back inside and sliding the glass door shut behind her. The boys share a heated look before breaking into a run for the Stilinski house.

______________________________

 

“Looks like everything’s healing nicely,” Dr. Distor says as she inspects Stiles’ arm, checking his range of movement, “any pain?”

“Nope,” and it’s even true, not the lie he was ready to tell in order to get this godforsaken cast off. He watches keenly as she presses her fingers at the base of the cast, just below the elbow and by the wrist, “all good!”

“Mm hmm,” she takes one more look at his arm before turning her face toward him, “I’d like to take another x-ray, just to be sure, but I think we can get you out of this by the end of the week.”

“Holy shit!” He inadvertently pulls the cast out of her grasp as he raises both arms above his head in surprise, “You’re serious?” She gives him a look that says she thinks he’s funny but she’s a professional dammit and will not smile outright at this idiot-child. She turns her attention to his files, jotting some notes down before snapping the manilla folder shut and handing it over.

“X-ray in two days, and if it all looks good we’ll go ahead with the cast removal right after.” Stiles nods, butcher paper crinkling under his ass as he slithers off the exam table, files clutched in his good hand. He’s half-tempted to give Dr. Distor a hug but she gives him a look like she will reschedule everything for next month if he tries to touch her, so he settles for a casted salute before wandering out of the room and heading down the hall to the nurses’ station, where he sees an all too familiar head of curly black hair.

“Helloooo~ Nurse!” Melissa jerks up from her computer, rolling her eyes as Stiles saunters up to the counter. She holds out a hand and he dutifully gives her the folder, drumming his fingers on the countertop as she glances through the pages. 

“Friday, really? You’re a couple weeks ahead of schedule.”

“Quick healer,” he explains, nodding and smiling at a nurse that barely glances at him as she hurries down the hallway. 

“Hey,” Melissa admonishes, snapping the folder shut and smacking him in the temple with it, “no flirting with my nurses!” He rests his elbows on the counter, propping his chin on his hands and batting his eyes.

“Don’t worry, you’ll always be my number one.” She lays him with an unimpressed look, every contour of her face telling him off.

“You’re a damn liar,” she presses three fingers to her lips before pushing them against his temple in a loving shove, “now go wait for Scott. And if he didn’t bring me dinner tell him to get me Chipotle.”

______________________________

 

“So really? Friday?” Scott asks as they pull up to the Chipotle down the road from the hospital. “Awesome! That’ll make camping so much better!”

“Oh, about that,” Stiles begins as he hauls himself out of the Camry, “I think I’m gonna pass. Derek can’t go ‘cause of some family thing, and I’ve spent enough of my life being a third wheel.” Scott pouts for a second, but then nods in understanding.

“Fair enough. So what’re you gonna do instead?” He asks as he holds the door open and follows Stiles into the restaurant. Stiles shrugs.

“I thought about the novelty of being able to jerk it righty all night, but now that I have Derek-” Scott gives him a frantic _cut it_ motion, and Stiles turns to see a family of four looking at him with horrified expressions just beyond the partition. He grins and nods at them before quickly following Scott up to the counter. “So I think I might surprise him at his place, see what kind of fun we can have with four functional hands.” 

“Nice - Hi, I’ll have two steak burritos - but won’t he be busy with his family?”

“One, his family loves me, and two, I’m sure once he sees these guys have been freed,” he wiggles the ends of his fingers, “he’ll find a way to sneak out for an hour or four - Can I get a chicken burrito, with like, as much chicken as possible... More than that. Little more. Little…” Scott smacks his shoulder, “that’s good.” 

They spend the next few minutes building their respective burritos, Scott following his mother’s regular order with scary precision, while Stiles waffles on whether or not he wants guacamole on the side or in the burrito. He ends up doing both, cause YOLO, and cries a single tear of joy when the burrito artist can’t quite close the tortilla to completion. 

“This is not your fault,” Scott promises the kid as he pulls out his wallet. 

 

______________________________

“So you’re really just going to drop by, no heads up?” Scott asks as he gets back into the car, burrito delivered and scary nurse-mothers appeased. Stiles nods.

“That’s why it’s called a surprise, buddy.”

“Yeah but, isn’t that risky? What if he’s too busy? What if he’s not home?” He takes a sharp turn, “Oh, what if his family’s actually a cult and you walk in on one of their weird cult practices?”

“What if you just drive the car and we don’t talk about it anymore?” Stiles says, sulking in the passenger seat for a few seconds before screwing his face up at Scott. “And really? Cult practices? What have you been watching?”

“Kira and I-”

“Nevermind.” They drive in silence for another mile or so before Scott launches into a detailed account of the the latest episode of _Ancient Agendas_ , complete with Kira’s added commentary and corrections, and Stiles silently vows to raid the Yukimura house for his next research project. 

They bro down for the rest of the day, playing video games, eating chips, and drinking so much Mountain Dew their pee takes on a neon glow. It reminds Stiles of the old days, before jobs and girlfriends and boyfriends and broken arms, when his dad would come home carrying two large pizzas or Melissa would complain that the room stank of teenage boy and make him clean up all his dirty clothes before taking Scott home. And while Stiles has no complaints with his summer’s development - even the broken arm lead to him getting together with Derek - he’s a little bummed that something that used to be a daily occurrence took almost the whole break to make happen. 

“Hey,” Stiles pauses the game, and Scott takes the opportunity to shove a handful of Doritos in his mouth, “not to get all _Fox and the Hound_ on you, but we’ll always be best friends, right? Like, even if we go to different colleges and can’t do shit like this on the regular?” 

“Yeah man,” Scott says through the crumbs, giving Stiles’ left arm a weak punch, “From the sandbox to the pine box, it’s you and me.”

“That’s a horrible saying,” but Stiles is grinning as he starts up the game again, making Scott squawk and fumble for his controller as Stiles starts pummeling his character. “ _Flawless Victory_!” he shouts before getting a cheese-dusted pillow square in the face. 

______________________________

 

Derek feels like such a loser, crowded in the closet, knees pulled up to his chest as he stares at the phone in his hands. He’s an early 90’s teen cliche, using the clothes to dampen the sound as he gets ready to call his boyfriend on the old cordless phone he’d snatched from the cradle and ran upstairs with the second Laura left the house.

“Oh my god I’m pathetic,” he whines as he smooths out the scrap of paper with Stiles’ number scrawled on it, his prize for calling the Stilinski household the day before and catching the sheriff on his way out the door. It had taken him about twenty-four hours to get over that mortification and try again. His heart races as punches the numbers into the boxy buttons, canceling and restarting three times before the whole string gets dialed. He listens to the ringing through the earpiece, the pounding in his ears growing louder after each unanswered second. He’s about to hang up when it stops suddenly, and it’s too late to back out now.

“ _Hello?_ ” The wariness in Stiles’ voice gives Derek new life, and he takes a shuddery breath.

“Hey, I uh, I got your number from-”

“ _Holy shit!! Derek!!_ ” There’s random scrambling on the other end, the sound of feet thudding up a flight of stairs and a door being shut before the unmistakable rasp of a body sliding against bed sheets, “ _Did you finally get a cell phone?_ ” Derek’s face heats up as he tucks a little further into himself.

“No, this is, it’s the house phone, it’s not-”

“ _Doesn’t matter, adding you to my contacts. Maybe we can get you a burner or something when school starts so I can text you inappropriate things during class._ ” Derek doesn’t even try to squash the smile that gets out of him. The idea of Stiles texting him during the school day, holding his hand in the hallway, sneaking a kiss before class - 

“Just not during AP History, Lockheed doesn’t give any downtime and I need to get a five on that test.”

“ _You fuckin’ nerd,_ ” the tone is unreservedly fond, and Derek relaxes against the closet wall a little more, pillowing his head against a low-hanging sweater, one of the new ones Laura had picked out and demanded he buy. 

“Laura made me go shopping with her yesterday.”

“ _Yeah, that’s the kind of dirty talk I was hoping for_ ,” he can hear the sheets rustle as Stiles moves around on the bed.

“She took me to five different stores and made me try on everything.”

“ _Oh yeah babe, say it slower._ ”

“Stiles!”

“ _I’m kidding! Kind of… so what did you get? Do I get a fashion show next time I come over?_ ” Derek squirms, thinking about parading around his room in his tight new jeans and henley while Stiles laughs in the background. 

“Is this what boyfriends are supposed to talk about on the phone?”

“ _I dunno man, you’re my first one._ ” Derek rolls his eyes.

“Boyfriends and girlfriends, then.”

“ _I say again, ‘you’re my first one.’_ ” He pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at it, like it can somehow explain the words coming out of the receiver. How is that even possible? Derek had always assumed all jocks and sports-types were ‘swimmin in women’.

“How?”

“ _What?_ ” The voice is tinny and sounds further away, and Derek remembers to bring the phone back up to his face.

“How is that possible? You’ve been on the lacrosse team since freshman year.”

“ _And I was on the bench until junior year. What does that have to do with anything?_ ”

“But, the parties! And the winning goal-kisses! And the locker room-”

“ _I’m gonna stop you right there._ ” They’re both quiet for a minute before Stiles starts up again. “ _Yeah, there’ve been random kisses, and once I accidentally touched a boob, but nothing I wanted to go after. Nothing like this._ ”

“Why?” 

“ _To be completely honest, I was kind of hung up on this guy for most of high school. Ever since I saw him dump all his books on the ground on the third day of school._ ” Derek’s face goes beet red, remembering clearly the humiliation he’d felt at seeing all his locker belongings on the ground, and the tall, skinny guy with buzzed hair and freckles barely muffling his laughter behind a fist as he watched from his own locker just a few down from Derek’s. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Derek buries his head in his hands, phone falling to the floor with a light thud.

“ _Are your ears red now? That was the best part, I could barely handle how cute you were. I wanted to help but was worried I’d just tackle you to the ground and make out with you instead._ ”

“Stiles…”

“DEREK! I NEED THE PHONE!” He jolts at the sound of his father’s voice, knocking the phone a few inches away before grabbing it up again.

“Hey, I gotta go, my dad needs the phone.”

“ _A one-phone home. What a concept. We seriously need to get you a cell. Doesn’t even need to be smart! Maybe after your family weekend we can do that_.” Something in his voice sounds extremely hopeful, and Derek can’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, maybe. Um, I’ll call you Sunday? If my family’s done early maybe we can hang out?”

“ _That’d be awesome_!” there’s another few beats of silence, “ _So, I guess I’ll talk to you then_?”

“Yeah, yeah, talk to you then.”

 

______________________________

 

“Hey Mom?”

“Yeah baby?” Derek grimaces a little at the petname, embarrassed as much as he’s secretly pleased, and pulls the door shut behind him. Talia looks up from her papers at the sound of the latch clicking and puts her pen down, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to talk to you.”

“About?” His heartbeat ratchets up as he grips the doorknob, sweaty palm digging into the lock as he debates just flinging it back open and diving out. But now that his mother knows something’s up he won’t get a moment of peace until he’s told her.

“I was wondering… how long were you- when was- when did you know it was the right time to tell Dad?” He hurries the question out, eyes cast down at his socked feet, the sound of rushing blood in his ears so deafening he doesn’t realize his mother has moved until she’s right in front of him, fingertips under his chin and guiding his eyes back up to meet hers. 

“This is a really big decision.”

“I know,” he breathes out, voice barely more than a whisper. He knows the extreme danger of letting an outsider in, has heard the stories of whole packs that had to be relocated because an ex-lover couldn’t handle the news that there’s more to the world than basic humanity. But every instinct he has is telling him that Stiles isn’t like that, could never be like that. And yeah, maybe they won’t end up _together forever_ , but it doesn’t negate the fact that their secret will be safe. Stiles will keep it safe. 

“You haven’t been dating for very long.” And while it stings, she’s right. He and Stiles have only been officially together for a week, less than, actually. But unofficially, they’ve kind of been together since the beginning of summer. Or that’s what it feels like, anyway. Still...

“I know.” Talia sighs and crosses the room to sit on her desk.

“I was twenty-one when I told your father. We’d been dating for six months and I could tell things were getting serious, and I knew I had to tell him before I got too invested, so it’d be easier to leave him if I had to,” She pauses and looks toward the ottoman in the corner of the office, “But the first time I ever told someone, I was fifteen. She was seventeen and I didn’t go to my alpha for permission. She didn’t - your grandfather had to remove the memories. All of them. Everything that included me, to keep us all safe.” She turns her gaze back to where Derek is still leaning against the door, too surprised to move. “For two years I had to watch my best friend look past me like I wasn’t even there, and it almost destroyed me. So please understand that when I tell you that now’s not the time, it comes from a place of love.” She smooths her hands down the tops of her legs, “Just, have fun. Enjoy your time together, get to know him better, and maybe in a few months we’ll revisit this conversation, okay?” There’s no point in pretending he’s not crushed by this decision, but he nods anyway, movements slow. “I’m almost done here, and your father should be back with Cora pretty soon, can you get dinner started?” His nod is faster this time, and he can hear his mother breathe out a sigh of relief. “Thanks baby.”

 

______________________________

 

“Oh _god_ , it’s so gross!” Stiles marvels at the general repulsiveness of his arm, specifically the thick, dark hair matted with dead skin, “Holy fu-”

“Language,” Melissa warns as she takes the two sides of the cast away. 

“No strenuous activity for four weeks, no contact sports for eight to twelve,” Dr. Distor slaps his hand away from where he’s poking at the newly revealed and absolutely disgusting skin, “and no picking or scratching. Now, follow my lead.” Stiles mirrors her moves, taking him through a range of arm motions while she watches his face. She finishes with her hands on her sides. “Good. How does it feel?” He wiggles his hips, focusing on the feeling of the air moving freely over his skin for the first time in six weeks.

“Light, kinda vulnerable, like I wonder if this is how a newly hatched chick feels-”

“Does it hurt.”

“Oh- no, all good here,” he salutes her for good measure. She nods and pulls out a small stack of papers from her clipboard.

“Nurse McCall will take you through the after-care procedure,” she hands him the papers topped with a couple of pamphlets. “Take care of yourself, Stiles,” she pats his cheek before nodding to Melissa and heading out the door. 

“Does she really expect me not to pick at this?” He asks, hand poised over the itchy skin he is _dying_ to scratch off. Melissa swats his hand away.

“If you want to avoid a skin infection and more hospital visits, then yes, yes she does.” She produces a small jar of ointment from her scrub pocket and hands it to him. “Soak your arm in warm water for twenty minutes a couple times a day, and _gently_ wipe the skin with a towel. Use that,” she points at the jar, “to moisturize. Your new skin needs a chance to grow and toughen up.”

“Is there any way to speed things up? I was kinda hoping to, um, _impress_ someone tonight.” 

“Yeah, Scott said something about that.” Stiles’ jaw drops. So much for the bro-code. Melissa reaches into the front pocket of her scrubs and brandishes a roll of gauze, “Wrap your arm in this - lightly - if you’re going to wear a long sleeve shirt or think you might be, _hrm_ , brushing up against anything. And this,” she pulls a plastic ziplock bag out of the same pocket and seriously, does she have a bag of holding in there or something- “is so I don’t see you back in here for another dumbass decision,” his ears flame as he accepts the Safer Sex goodie bag, filled with condoms, dental dams, single-use lube packets, and even a little booklet of some sort.

“Uh, thanks, Melissa.”

“This is not a promotion of sex, but if you’re going to do it, at least be safe about it.” He nods and hastily stuffs the ziplock into his pocket, the plastic edges bulging out just a bit. She takes him through the rest of the aftercare instructions, and after one more round of being thoroughly embarrassed (as she referenced jacking off as a good way to build the muscle back up gradually) reaches into that mystical pocket of hers and brandishes a set of keys. Stiles stares for a good ten seconds before realizing they’re the keys to the jeep, then stares for another twenty seconds in wonder at this magical human being. 

“How did you even-” he asks as he accepts the keys, cradling them lovingly in his right hand.

“Just know you have no shortage of people that love you,” she taps two fingers to her lips and presses them to his temple, “now get out of here before it gets crazy.”

“Got a planned outbreak of something?” Stiles asks as he readjusts his hold on all the papers and pamphlets, the keys a reassuring weight against his palm.

“Full moon. Busiest night of the month for both me and your dad. So get home safe, and make good choices.” He awkwardly salutes, losing a couple of pamphlets with the motion and almost pitching forward as he attempts to recover them, before sheepishly making his way out of the building. 

And seriously, he doesn’t know _how_ they did it, cause Roscoe was definitely in the driveway when he and his dad left the house an hour ago, yet here she sits - washed even - in the patient discharge area. 

“Oh baby, I missed you,” he murmurs, letting the pamphlets flutter to the ground as he wraps his arms around the side door and the windshield, careful not to let his cootie-mcgrossout skin touch the clean glass. They share a quiet moment together before he gathers up his dropped papers and dumps them on the passenger’s side before hauling himself up into the driver’s seat. As he settles back into his ass groove he breathes in the stale smell of oil, cheetos, and sweat - permeated into the upholstery - and glides his hands over the smooth metal of the steering wheel, fingers curling reflexively around the edges, right hand falling to the slightly rickety knob of the gear shift. 

It feels like coming home.

 

______________________________

 

“ _You_ get to be the horse now.” Derek barely has a chance to look up before Laura’s dumping an armful of child into Derek’s lap, knocking _A Game of Thrones_ out of his hands. Liliana looks up at him expectantly, all big hazel eyes and pouty baby face.

“Fiiiiine,” he retrieves the book from the floor and sets it on the end table (he doesn’t want it getting crumpled or torn and having Stiles kill him) before standing up and stretching. Liliana jumps up and squeals, bouncing around on the couch until Derek gets into position: leaning forward with his arms slightly out and crooked, ready to catch the five-year-old as she launches onto his back, tiny arms wrapped securely around his neck.

“Okay, where are we going?”

“UPSTAIRS!” She shouts directly into his ear, making his head reel with the noise. Aunt Jess has been trying to explain the difference between werewolf and human hearing, but it hasn’t quite taken yet. Not that shouting directly into a human’s ear would have been any better. He shakes his head and starts trotting, making whinnying sounds every so often to his small cousin’s delight. He trots up the stairs, past where his mother is prepping Leah for her First Hunt ceremony. Lili tugs on his shirt, making him slow as she takes in the garment her older sister is wearing.

“Pretty…” she whispers, and Derek has to agree. The white shift looks particularly luminescent against her dark skin, neck adorned with the traditional clasp, arms bare, and leggings of her choosing - a shocking pink cheetah print. Leah looks up from where Talia is securing a bracelet around her wrist and grins at her little sister, waving with her free hand. Lili waves back so hard she nearly falls off Derek’s back, and clings extra hard once she rights herself. 

“For my first hunt, I’m gonna wear my Supergirl tights!” She says excitedly, rousing Derek back into action. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her humans don’t get first hunts - no one wants to send a thirteen year old out to kill a deer with a gun during the full moon - so he reverts back to whinnying and galloping, hamming it up until he sees Laura with her cell phone out.

“No no, keep going!!” The only thing that stops Derek from mauling her is the tiny human clinging to his back, laughing and shouting, “ _Faster, pony! Faster!_ ”  
Cheeks burning, he does a quick about-face and heads back down the central stairway, Lili’s voice jostling with every step he takes. He’s 87% sure Laura’s still filming as he pauses to look for Aunt Jess, twisting his upper body left and right to create a swinging sensation for his passenger as his eyes scan the room. He finally spots her in the corner of the patio talking with Peter, who’s got Jamie leashed up and tied to a belt loop. He’s plotting out how to drop Lili off with her mother without seeming like a jerk when Helen, gorgeous, wonderful Helen, saves him the trouble. 

“There’s the lady I’m looking for!” She says, sidling up next to Derek and plucking the child off his back, “I need some help getting ready for the super secret sleepover! Can you sneak all the pillows and covers off Uncle Jimmy’s bed?” Derek stifles a laugh as Liliana’s eyes go huge as she nods, soft curls dancing around her shoulders. Helen gives her a loving pat on the butt as she runs down the hallway, flashing her eyes at Derek, “You’re welcome, now go get ready, it’s almost time.”

 

Half an hour later he’s standing at attention in the backyard with the rest of the family, adorned in a deep red button up and loose slacks, body vibrating with the call from the moon. Laura smirks and nudges him, lips painted to match her own scarlet outfit and making her smile that much more terrifying. Their aunts and uncle are across from them, similarly dressed, waiting patiently as Leah is led to the simple dais at the edge of the treeline by Talia. Derek remembers his own first hunt, remembers how nervous he was that he’d mess up, not catch anything, be the embarrassment of the pack. Laura had teased him that all he’d be able to catch was a rabbit, but with a little assistance from Peter he’d been able to take down a buck. He’s sure his mom still has his blood-stained shirt somewhere as a keepsake. Now he watches as Leah, who already walks with more confidence than Derek can muster on a good day, goes through the ceremony that will take her from cub to packmate. She looks strong and ready, and Derek is itching to run with her. 

“Tonight,” Talia begins, voice clear and sharp in the crisp night air, “we recognize Leah Shashidar, on this her one hundred and seventy-third moon, to lead the pack in hunt, to provide for those who cannot provide for themselves, as she was once provided for. It is a rite of passage, one she participates in proudly.” She holds up an ornate cup, taking a long drink from it before passing it to Jess, who does the same, and so on until it reaches Derek. He takes a quick sip, lips puckering at the tart cranberry juice, but has heard that back in the day they used real blood, so he can’t complain too much. He brings the cup back up the to front and hands it to Leah, who, with a nod from her alpha, proceeds to down the rest of it. Talia smiles, baring her fangs, and uses her thumb to wipe a small dribble of juice from Leah’s chin. 

“It’s time. May the Blue Thunder moon guide your path,” she takes a large step back and gestures out to the open expanse of the preserve. Leah turns, grinning brightly at her parents in turn before tearing off into the trees with a loud _whoop!_ The rest of the pack follows, streaks of red in her wake as she searches for the scent that will lead to her prey. Derek is surprised to find himself keeping steady pace with Peter and Laura, while his mother hangs back to make sure Cora, the only other one in white, is keeping up. It’ll be her turn as a hunt lead soon enough, and Talia didn’t see the harm in letting her join the run so long as she didn’t do any killing herself. 

Helen signals for two human heartbeats ahead of them, so the pack veers east, taking them off the trail of a deer, but after a couple minutes Leah gives a short howl, and pretty soon Derek catches the nearly faded scent of a mountain lion. 

“That’s my girl,” Aunt Jess mutters, sailing neatly over a fallen log before taking out her phone and texting her husband. Derek falls behind a bit as he watches her, thinking of Stiles and his teasing and suggestion that they get him his own phone; how nice it would be to be able to text him randomly throughout the day, to get texts, to hear what’s going on his life and know that for some reason he’s still thinking of Derek at the same time. He trips over a root as he gets lost in the daydream, falling behind Talia and Cora, who give him eerily matching smirks. He rolls his eyes and charges west a bit, forgetting about the hunt for a moment and just reveling in the feeling of running under a blue moon, with the pack’s energy thrumming just underneath his skin. A month ago he would have given anything to get out of this, but now, he feels _good_. Strong. 

There’s another howl from ahead, signaling location and intent, and Derek bristles in anticipation, teeth lengthening, claws flexing, ready for the fight. It’s not long before he hears the yowl of the mountain lion, the roar of his cousin, and the returning howls of the rest of the pack. He follows suit, calling out his position even as his limbs pump faster, energized by the pack and the scent of blood. He sees Laura break through the trees, and only has a second to wonder how he got ahead of her before she barrels into him, playfully pushing him off course so he almost runs into a tree. He recovers and gnashes his teeth at her before they both put on extra speed to get to the fight.

By the time they get there Peter and Jess are at the sidelines, watching as Leah grapples with the full grown mountain lion, a truly ambitious prey for a first hunt. There’s a gash in her leggings where the skin has already healed and a couple spots on her arms where she’s actively bleeding, but otherwise it looks like most of the blood staining her shift isn’t hers. The struggle ends when Leah is able to sink her teeth into the mountain lion’s neck, ripping its throat out, spilling warm blood all down her front. The cat drops, life fading from its eyes as Leah shares a frankly grotesque smile with her mother, who couldn’t look prouder. Jess thankfully refrains from taking a picture, since no one really trusts the cloud and that one would be a little hard to explain.

Laura and Helen help to extract the heart, leaving it in reverence of the animal and the forest it came from, before hoisting the carcass across Leah’s shoulders. It’s a young male, about 120 pounds, but she carries it with ease, smile bright and white against the red still painting her face.

They head back to the house at an easy pace, still vibrating with the energy from the moon. Aunt Jess pulls out her phone and shoots a quick text to Akhil to let him know they’re heading back, so he can be there for the second part of the ceremony. Laura terrorizes Derek with her bloody hands, swiping red streaks across his face, trying to goad him into chasing her. It works, and before long the whole pack is involved in a haphazard game of tag, panting and and snarling playfully as they break the treeline and head toward the house. James and Akhil are waiting for them, beers in hand and a baby monitor on the table, and Akhil’s eyes light up when he sees his daughter toting around her prize. She slams the oversized cat onto the dais, and roars with everything her thirteen year-old self has. Everyone, the two human fathers included, roars back. It’s all very _Lion King_ but with a lot more blood. 

Aunt Jess solemnly carries the old Hale family history book up to her; an ancient tome, leather bound with yellow pages and a brittle spine. Leah takes it and carefully sets it on the animal’s back, where the fur is still clean of blood. She begins reading the archaic Gaelic passage, voice stuttering a bit over some of the more challenging pronunciations. Four years ago this had been Derek’s favorite part of the ceremony. He liked the way the words felt, liked the feel of the book under his hands. Liked that his grandmother had commented that she hadn’t heard pronunciation that exquisite since her father. 

Leah struggles through the final sentence and shuts the book as carefully and quickly as she can before breathing a sigh of relief. Derek remembers really not being a fan of this next part, and gulps loudly as Talia unsheathes the age-old dagger, brandishing it reverently as she walks toward the dais. She’s just a few steps away when she stops, turning slowly toward the eastern entrance into the preserve, body rigid, eyes narrowed. Derek’s blood runs cold, and when she flicks her eyes to his there’s an undeniable sadness there, and it’s a very near thing that he doesn’t crumple to the ground. With a shuttered breath he turns, and sees Stiles staring wide-eyed back at him, face white as a sheet. 

“Please don’t-” he starts, but it’s too late.

Stiles bolts.

______________________________

 

It’s a sad statement that the first thing to flutter through Stiles’ mind was _Holy shit, Scott was right!_. Derek is in a cult. A sacraficey, chanty, induct-innocent-children kind of cult. 

The second was _HOLY SHIT! MOVE! NOW!_ And he would have, had Derek not chosen that exact second to turn and lock eyes with him. Which is how he spends a whole three seconds of precious fleeing time staring at the boy he has to now somehow save from his own family before his brain finally kicks his legs into action.

He runs.

Back towards the Jeep, only a couple hundred feet away, shining like a beacon of hope in a world gone crazy. He wrenches the driver’s side door open, throwing himself in and slamming the door, hands shaking as they fumble with the keys. The second time he drops them he makes himself stop and take a breath, closing his eyes and allowing muscle memory to fit the key into the ignition. Roscoe sparks to life, thank god, and he tears down the bouncy path, eyes jumping to the rearview mirror every couple seconds. He’s so focused on what might be coming from behind that he almost misses what’s right in front of him, and has to slam on the brakes to keep from hitting Derek. Stiles has a split-second of indecision before flinging the passenger door open and shouting for him to get in. Derek climbs up and doesn’t even get the door shut before Stiles is driving again, hoping he’s taking the right turns to get him back to the main road.

“Holy shit, man, what was that? How did you escape? I was going to come back for you, I promise.”

“Stiles slow down.”

“Slow- Are you _kidding_ me? We barely made it away with our _lives_.”

“There was never any danger-”

“That girl was _covered_ in blood. You’ve got blood on your face!” Stiles narrowly avoids running into a tree, making a sharp right turn to stay on the path.

“If you’d just listen-”

“Oh fuck. _Fuck_! They’ve already gotten to you…” he slams his hand against the steering wheel before shaking his head, “don’t worry. We’ve got ties to the FBI, they have resources to reverse the effects of cult brainwashing. We’ll go back and get your sisters and that girl and everything will be fine.”

“Stiles will you _listen to me_?” Stiles shoots a quick glance at Derek and has a miniature heart attack as he sees glowing yellow eyes staring back at him. He slams reflexively on the brakes, lurching forward due to his lack of seatbelt, bracing himself on the steering wheel even as he feels Derek’s arm against his chest, as though he could keep him from flying through the windshield, which thankfully neither of them do as the Jeep careens to a halt. He bats the arm away and sucks in a huge breath, then another, before finally turning to look at Derek. 

“What the _fuck_ , man? What did that cult do to you?” His eyes are still glowing, but somehow look softer, not nearly as startling as they were just seconds before. Derek sighs and looks down at his twining fingers.

“It’s not a _cult_. It’s… culture.”

“What the hell kind of backwards _cult_ ure-”

“I’m a werewolf.” Stiles stops mid sentence, hand falling to the steering wheel. He turns back to look out into the trees, letting his brain churn over this new information as his hand automatically slips down to turn off the engine. He instinctively wants to reject the idea, it being the most far-fetched excuse… but it _is_ the full moon, and Derek does like to smell him a lot, and he was able to overtake the jeep on foot, and he hears _everything_ , and all that weirdness at the family dinner, and his _eyes fucking changed color_...

“Are you going to kill me?” Stiles asks, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. Derek balks, eyes switching back to their normal hazel.

“God no, what happened tonight, even that’s not ‘normal’, it’s part of the culture… rites of first hunt. I don’t- we’re not _killers_.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” It’s not what he means to ask next, and it comes out more hurt than he’d intended, but it’s a fair enough question.

“I was going to- I _wanted_ to tell you, but my mom said to wait. It’s a pretty big decision, letting people know.” He squirms uncomfortably in the seat, “A lot of people can’t comprehend it. Some even want to hurt us, have dedicated their lives to hunting us down.” Stiles can’t help but wonder what happens to those people, the ones who don’t understand, who act out against them. Derek said they weren’t killers, but how else could such a huge secret go unheard of?

“What if I… can’t handle it. Not saying I can’t! Just, what if?” Derek slumps in his seat.

“My mom will erase your memories.”

“Werewolves can _do that_?” Stiles can’t hide the awe in his voice; he had no idea werewolves were so complex. He thought they just changed into mindless killing machines on the full moon. But there it is, hanging above them, and here’s Derek, sitting dejectedly in Stiles’ car, looking every bit as human as he ever has.

“Alphas can, though I’ve never heard of my mom doing it. She’s the alpha of our pack.”

“Why not your dad?” Derek screws his face up, like that was the weirdest question he’d ever heard.

“Cause he’s not my mom? Also he’s human, so it’s a lot less likely.” Stiles nods, taking in all the information, fingers still curled a little too tight around the steering wheel. He feels the ache as he begins to loosen them, right arm throbbing a bit at the over-exertion.

“So this is real.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles drops his head back against the seat, mind swimming with too much, too fast. Werewolves are real, and he is dating one. Or was dating one. Can he still be dating one? Is that something his puny human brain can even handle? And if it can’t, does he lose _all_ his Derek-related memories, or just the werewolf ones? He’s honestly afraid to ask, afraid of the answer and the feeling it could incite from Derek. Derek, who is a werewolf. Who could rip his throat out if he wanted to. But then, he’s still _Derek_. Derek, who’s had his hand down Stiles’ pants. Derek, who blushes furiously whenever he’s teased or complimented. Derek, who once skirted so far around a caterpillar on the road he was almost run over by an oncoming car. Does _what_ he is matter as much as _who_ he is? Stiles’ head pounds as he tries to make sense of it all.

“If you,” Derek starts, breaking the careful silence, “If you want more answers, you can come by the house. I swear my mom won’t do anything without your consent. And if you just want to go home and forget all of this ever happened,” he pushes out a breath, “I’ll let my mom know, and she’ll see that you do. So… your call.” There’s another minute of silence before Stiles reaches down and turns the key.

“Which way to your house?”

______________________________

 

Talia Hale has the regality of a queen, and suddenly Stiles realizes how very stupid it was that he ever questioned her authority in the pack. He fights the urge to bow as he approaches her, standing at the far end of the, thankfully, otherwise empty living room. She regards him carefully, almond shaped eyes scanning his face, his frame, and he’s having a hard time remembering this is the same woman who not a week ago was running around the backyard with torte smeared across her face. 

“Stiles, I’m sorry you had to learn about our family’s history in such an abrupt way.” Her voice is strong and sincere, and she takes a seat on the sofa, patting the space next to her. Stiles shoots a quick look at Derek, who nods, before joining her, sitting ramrod straight as Derek settles on the uncomfortable looking ornate chair opposite them.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, and I’ll answer as many as I can. Derek will stay in here or he can leave, it’s up to you.”

“Stay.” Stiles says immediately, flashing a quick look to make sure Derek was still there, wishing he could reach out and grab his hand. Talia nods, pulling an ancient looking book off the end table and onto her lap.

“The Hale pack has been a protector of this area, even before it was founded as a township. Our history is recorded in this book, which is used for all of our major ceremonies. What you saw tonight is one of them, Rite of the First Hunt. Leah was celebrating her transition from cub to packmate by showing she could provide.” 

“Like a werewolf bar mitzvah,” he can’t help the grin that follows, “ _spooky scary~_.” Talia gives a confused look to her son, who laughs and shakes his head a little.

“It’s from a show,” he explains before singing the next line, “ _Boys becoming men~”_

“ _Men becoming wolves~_ ” Stiles finishes, beaming at Derek. Talia rolls her eyes in a way Stiles has seen his own father do too many times, and that more than anything else calms his nerves. 

Talia lets him see the book, pointing out some of their more docile rituals, like the night of the Harvest Moon when they all plant something in the garden, and the solstice celebration, which is just a lot of eating and ‘merriment’. A lot of it is in Gaelic and needs translation, but there’s plenty in English, and Stiles drinks it all in, asking questions as he goes, only noticing the rest of the pack had joined them when he looks up to ask Derek if he can turn into a full wolf, or if he’d ever sprouted ears and a tail. Laura barks out a laugh from where she’s perched on the arm of Derek’s chair, then grabs tufts of his dark hair to fashion into ears. Derek bats her away, blush high on his cheeks, and Stiles just smiles, scooting over a little so one of the twins - he assumes it to be Jamie - can crawl up between him and Talia, eyes still heavy with sleep. The girl he’d seen previously covered in blood is now curled up on the opposite end of the couch, face clean and in comfy looking pajamas, feet tucked under Talia, and it becomes abundantly clear what ‘pack’ really means. 

It’s family. 

Stiles carefully closes the book and rests his hand on the battered cover. “So, this is kind of a lot to take in,” he confesses, thumb tracing over the swirly design etched into the leather, “But I get it, and... your secret is safe with me.” The room is completely silent until Talia gives a small smile and a nod, and then it’s as though everyone lets out one huge collective breath. The relief in the room is palpable, and it makes Stiles wonder what would have happened if he’d said no. Derek had said something about memory wiping, and right now, the thought of losing his memories of Derek, of not remembering or knowing him at all, is so, _so_ much scarier than a family of werewolves. 

Talia stands up, hoisting the toddler onto her hip, before winking at Stiles and walking out of the room. Peter gives him a slightly wicked grin before doing the same, and is quickly followed by the rest of the family, leaving him alone with Derek. They share a look before Derek takes a breath and moves over to the couch, keeping a cushion of space between them. 

“Thank you, for being understanding. And, I just want you to know you don’t have to keep dating me. If this is too much or too weird, I get it, I just- don’t want you to feel obligated-” Stiles stops him by leaning over and cupping his face with both hands, thumbs sweeping across his cheekbones, and just looking at him.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks after another thirty seconds of silent face-holding and staring. 

“I’m burning your face into my brain, so even if your mom takes my memories my baser instincts will still recognize you.” He can feel the already warm skin under his hands grow warmer, and leans in to give him a quick peck on the lips. When he pulls back Derek is grinning a little dopily, and then his eyes widen and he grabs Stiles’ hands.

“Your cast! It’s gone!” 

“Oh! Right, yeah, that’s, um, that’s why I was coming over in the first place. I thought we could sneak in some fun time after your family thing. But, ah, seeing as it’s an all-nighter-”

“And that we can hear _ev-er-ee-thang_ ,” Laura shouts from the other room, making Stiles freeze and blush. Derek groans, glaring at the empty doorway before looking back at Stiles.

“Seriously, I won’t blame you if want out.” 

“Can you leave?” Stiles watches in mild panic as Derek’s face visibly falls, looking for all the world as though his heart had been shattered.

“I can’t - it’s not something I can give up, Stiles.” And Stiles has to physically hold back from laughing and knocking Derek in the head.

“Can you leave _the house_. So you can tell me all the finer points of being a werewolf and I can show you the finer points of having two functional hands and no sisters or parents can overhear.”

“Or Uncles!” Peter calls out, and before Stiles can retaliate Derek is grabbing his hand and tugging him out the door. 

 

 

______________________________

 

“So _how far_ is your range of hearing?”

“Stiles we’re on the other side of town, they can’t hear us.”

“Maybe just a couple more-” Derek rolls his eyes and grabs for the door handle, making Stiles squawk and pull to the side of the deserted road, “Gahhh, don’t do that!” The fact that they’d literally spent the whole car ride talking about Derek’s werewolfy traits - including agility, super healing, and speed - and Stiles is still concerned for Derek’s well-being gives him butterflies. 

“I apologize.”

“No you don’t,” Stiles grouses, but follows up with a smile and unbuckles, clumsily climbing across the seats. He honks the horn twice before managing to arrange himself over Derek, thighs spread to either side of him, knees on the seat and arms resting over his shoulders, boxing him in. 

“Your legs are gonna go numb like that,” Derek says, and really? He’s got a literal lapful of gorgeous boy and _that’s_ what his brain comes up with? But Stiles just smirks and presses his nose against his cheek, lips trailing along his jawline in an unbearably sexy way.

“I’ll manage,” he mumbles between kisses, fingers slipping into Derek’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Derek shivers, closing his eyes as he chases after Stiles’ mouth, hands sliding from his hips up his back and down again, curving around his ass and tugging him closer, which results in a slight _oof_ as Stiles’ head bumps the roof of the Jeep. 

“Sorry-” Derek starts, but is immediately silenced as Stiles kisses him again, bodily pressing him into the seat, grinding up against him in a way that makes Derek dizzy. They need to get horizontal, like, _now_. He reaches his right hand down, groping blindly at the side of the seat until his fingers land on a lever. He gives a quick tug and loses his breath as they both go shooting backward, landing with a jarring thunk that has Stiles biting down hard on Derek’s tongue and smashing their noses into each other. 

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Derek muffles out from behind his hands, willing away the tears that had sprung into his eyes as he lays perfectly inert on the now totally reclined front seat. He looks up to find Stiles still sitting on him, head tipped back as blood pours out of his nose. “Oh thit, Thtileth!”

“I got it, no big, I got this,” Stiles says, struggling to get out of his t-shirt as he teeters on Derek’s lap.

“Wan’ me ta cu’ i’ off?” Derek tries to get out, tongue still throbbing as he clamps down on the other boy’s thighs in an effort to steady him. 

“You got scissors?” Stiles asks, shirt ridden up to show off his torso, arm halfway stuck through the sleeve. Derek pops a claw and slices down the front of the blood-stained shirt, careful not to knick the skin underneath. There really doesn’t need to be any more bloodshed tonight. 

“Oh man, if I weren’t bleeding so much I’d be so hard right now,” Stiles slips out of the shirt and balls it up, shoving it under his nose to stop the blood. They sit in pained silence for awhile, Derek retracting his claws and waiting for the swelling in his tongue to go down while Stiles adjusts the shirt every few seconds.

“So you can just, you know, whenever?” Stiles makes a claw out of his right hand and bares his teeth. Derek cocks an eyebrow, which just gets him an aggravated huff. “Don’t try to get me going, there’s only so much blood in my body and about a third of it is on this shirt right now,” he pulls said shirt away, taking a cautionary sniff through his nose before checking out the damage and grimacing. “Damn, I really liked this shirt.” Derek winces, immediately regretting his actions and is about to apologize when Stiles lowers himself down so he’s lying on top of him, head resting on the ball of his shoulder, face tilted up to keep his nose clear of contact. 

“Sorry,” Derek mutters, heart racing as he wraps an arm around Stiles’ waist, “I know this isn’t how you pictured tonight going.” Stiles lets out a painful sounding snort.

“Understatement of the _century_ , fuck,” Stiles rolls a little, dabbing his face with the clean part of his shirt to see if he’s still bleeding. The blood had already dried around his mouth, and even Derek has to admit it’s a little grotesque; they should really head somewhere so Stiles can wash up. 

“Maybe we should-” they both scream as something knocks on the driver side window, and Derek ducks away from the bright beam of the flashlight before it can catch his eyes. 

“Ohhhhhh shit,” Stiles mutters, pressing his face into Derek’s shoulder before jerking back with a pained, “ _Owwww_.” 

“Seriously Stiles?” And Derek wants to _die_. The sheriff. The _sheriff_ is at the door, with a flashlight, questioning Stiles’ decisions. Not that Derek can really blame him at this point.

“Heeeeey Dad, so… you’ve met Derek.”

“Yes, I recognize the young man I hired to take care of my lawn, and I can _guess_ why you’re lying shirtless on top of him. But why, _why_ , are you covered in blood?”

“Psh, this is nothing compared to…” Derek turns and glares at him, “something I saw on TV. Game of Thrones, Walking Dead, now THAT’S covered in blood.”

“Get out of the car.”

“Yeah okay,” it’s a few minutes of awkward maneuvering and unintentional grindage before Stiles is able to open the passenger side door and tumble out. Literally. Derek winces as his boyfriend’s leg buckles underneath him and he faceplants on the ground.

“Legs asleep?”

“Shu’ up,” Stiles grumbles into the dirt, pushing himself up by his forearms. Derek takes pity and hops out of the Jeep, helping Stiles to standing as the sheriff rounds the front of the vehicle. 

“You boys know it’s way after curfew.”

“Yes sir,” they both mumble, Derek’s arm around Stiles’ bare waist as he shakes his left leg around to get the blood flowing again.

“Derek, do your parents know where you are?” He breathes a little sigh of relief at this. He’d never been able to lie to authority figures.

“Yes sir, well, they know I’m with Stiles.” The sheriff raises an eyebrow, and looks back at his son. His half naked son with blood dried around his nose and mouth.

“And they’re okay with that?”

“Hey, I’m not that bad.”

“You’ve got blood all over your face and you can’t stand on your own.”

“Well they don’t _know_ that!” Derek shakes his head, tightening his grip as Stiles gingerly puts his left foot down and starts wiggling his right around.

“Derek, once my son gets feeling back in his legs I’m taking you home. I’ll be waiting in the cruiser.” He takes three steps before doubling back, “Stiles, go _straight_ home. I’m calling the house phone in twenty minutes and if you don’t pick up I’m taking the keys for the rest of the summer.” 

“But I just got them-”

“Twenty minutes!” He shouts without turning around, walking steadily back to the cruiser. Derek tentatively loosens his hold, making sure Stiles can stand without grimacing before letting go entirely. They stand silently together for a full minute, eyes skipping around from the jeep to their shoes to the sky, until Stiles slips his right hand into Derek’s, thumb rubbing against his knuckle. 

“So tonight didn’t really pan out like I had planned,” he says, and Derek snorts with the obviousness of it, “but I’m glad it happened the way it did.”

“I could have done with a whole less blood,” Derek admits, but smiles and meets Stiles’ gaze. “Thank you, for, everything.”

“I just have one request, what with the moon and… can you do that eye thing again?” A warm feeling fills Derek’s chest as he looks away, huffing out a small laugh before giving into the pull of the moon, flashing his eyes and dropping his fangs for good measure.

“Holy fucking shit I’m in love with a werewolf,” Stiles groans before carefully slotting their mouths together, minding the now razor sharp canines, which is good because Derek’s brain went offline at the word _love_. Did Stiles even realize what he’d said? Did he mean it? Was it the blood loss? He’s so consumed with this train of thought that he forgets to control the shift, and he shivers uncontrollably as Stiles’ finger grazes the tip of his pointed ear, stroking mindlessly as he mouths at Derek’s jaw.

The sound of a horn breaks them apart, reverberating through Derek’s head, ears more sensitive in every way when he’s shifted. Stiles wipes at his mouth, cheeks flushed and eyes dark.

“Shit, sorry, I think-” the horn honks again and Derek can’t help the instinct to cover his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing the shift back down. He takes a few steadying breaths before opening his eyes and finding Stiles staring back at him, a bewildered look on his face, heart pounding a mile a minute. 

“That was… we are exploring that more, later, before my dad honks again,” he leans in and gives a quick peck on the lips before climbing into the Jeep, then climbing back out and running around to the driver’s side, shouting, “I’ll call you!” Derek takes another breath, double checks to make sure his teeth and brows are all back to fully human, and heads to the cruiser. He waffles a bit, not sure if he’s supposed to get in the front or the back, until the sheriff leans over and opens the passenger door for him. He sheepishly slips in, buckling his seatbelt and sitting rigidly still as the sheriff flashes his brights and waits for Stiles to drive off before pulling a U-turn and heading back toward the preserve.

They ride in silence for most of the drive, radio going off a few times but apparently nothing worth noting as the sheriff didn’t even blink an eye. Derek’s palms begin to sweat as he wonders when the questions are going to start, the warnings, possibly even mild threats. Stiles is the man’s only son, only _family_ as far as Derek knows, and they’d been caught red handed-

“Derek.” He almost has a heart attack at the sound of his name, and tries to steady his breathing before he responds.

“Ye-yes.” Nailed it. 

“From what I can tell you’re a good kid,” oh here it comes, “and I don’t want to see you getting into trouble or going down the wrong path just because of some guy.” Derek is stunned. 

“Sir?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my son and he means well… most of the time. But as we both know he can also make some snap decisions that just don’t end well.” The car turns steadily off the main town road, and Derek is caught between wondering how the sheriff knows where he lives and how they’re having this conversation at all. “If he does something that worries you, tell him. He’ll listen to you,” the older man grins, and Derek can see the resemblance more clearly now, “I knew he liked you when he told me not to hire you.”

“He did what?” Derek’s genuinely not sure if he should be outraged or flattered.

“Said you were habitually late and a pencil stealer.” Okay he’s a little bit outraged.

“ _Pencil stealer_? He’s the one-” he cuts himself off, blushing as he notices the smirk and raised eyebrows on the sheriff’s face, “Nevermind.”

“If there’s ever anything you want to tell me, I’m here to listen.” Derek seriously debates just leaping from the car when he realizes how close they are, and then pauses when he subsequently realizes he never gave an address or any form of directions at any time during the drive. 

“Um, sir, how do you know where I live?” The sheriff grins as he makes the final turn that leads up to the house.

“Let’s just say this isn’t the first time I’ve had to bring home an errant Hale. Give your mom my best, won’t you? And tell Laura the sheriff says hi.” 

 

______________________________

 

The house phone is ringing when Stiles gets his key into the lock, making it damn near impossible to get his hands steady enough to open the door. Once inside he lunges for the counter, grabbing and dropping the phone twice before getting it up to his ear.

“Hey Dad, I got-”

“ _Dude! Thank god you’re alive!_ ”

“Scott? What the _hell_ are you doing calling the house phone?”

“ _Yours was going straight to voicemail! And after what happened tonight-_ ”

“You can’t be on this line, I need-” the call waiting tone beeps, and Stiles flips over without saying another word. He’ll explain it to Scott later.

“Hey Dad, I was just-”

“ _Is Derek there?_ ” A female voice asks through the receiver.

“What? No! Who is this?”

“ _Laura. Well if he’s not with you where is he? You didn’t just leave him out in the woods, did you?_ ” There’s an unmistakable growl in her voice, and after tonight Stiles knows just how real that growl is.

“No! My dad’s taking him home!” It’s not until the words are out of his mouth that he realizes how embarrassing they are, and flushes a deep crimson as he hears Laura’s tinny laughter.

“ _You guys parked and got caught?! Oh man, that’s rich! The golden child has finally- wait, your_ dad’s _bringing him here?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _Shit gotta go_.” Stiles stares at the phone, dial tone beeping solemnly until he gets it back on the cradle. He fishes his own phone out of his back pocket and yep, it’s dead. He runs upstairs to get his charger, then flies back down as the house phone starts ringing again.

“Hello?” He asks a little breathlessly.

“ _Second ring. Very impressive. Okay, you’re off the hook this time, but son, don’t get reckless with this. I know young love is exciting-_ ”

“Daaaaaaaad,” Stiles tries to drown him out, not foolish enough to hang up on his father, but not at all ready to have this conversation either.

“ _Okay, fine, we’ll talk later. Breakfast at Angi’O’s, your treat._ ” The line is dead before Stiles can reply, and he takes this chance to run upstairs before it can ring again. 

He plugs his phone into the charger and kicks back on his bed, the events of the day crashing around in his brain. He can’t believe getting his cast off was the _least_ exciting thing to happen to him. Rituals. Blood. Werewolves. Parking with Derek. More blood. Werewolves. Getting caught by his _dad_. Which, right… he hoists himself up and heads to the bathroom, washing his face and checking his nose for any lasting damage. Besides being a little red it looks good, same as always at least. His phone chirps from the nightstand, announcing voicemails and texts as it comes back to life. He sits on the edge of his bed and swipes down the line of texts, all from Scott, before rolling his eyes and calling him.

“ _DUDE!_ ” Scott shouts, making Stiles pull the phone back for a second to recover his hearing, “ _I was afraid you were dead, or eaten, or-_ ”

“Wait, what? Why? Just because my phone went to voicemail?”

“ _The howling!_ ” Stiles’ blood runs cold, did Scott know too? How could he- “ _Kira and I were in the preserve, and we were just about to- you know-_ ”

“Oh my god.”

“ _But then the howling started, and it was really close, like,_ really _close. And that’s when Kira told me that there aren’t any wolves in California, so really there’s only one explanation._ ” 

“Yeah but werewolves? I mean, come on man, werewolves?” Stiles sputters out, voice half an octave higher than normal.

“ _Werewolves? What? No, the Hales own a pet wolf!_ ” The sigh Stiles let out could knock down a poorly made house, “ _And I knew you were heading that way tonight, and if you got caught… you know… then-_ ” Stiles sinks onto his bed, his laughter cutting Scott off, “ _What? It’s a legitimate concern!_ ” 

“I don’t think even the Hales would get away with feeding the sheriff’s kid to a wolf.” Although, it would be a solid way to dispose of evidence, or at least throw off the investigation. Huh, that’s something to think about-

“ _Stiles_!”

“What?”

“ _I asked if you got to meet up with Derek._ ”

“Oh, yeah, we uh, we met up. It was… it was pretty awesome.” He grins, remembering the feel of Derek beneath him, no cast in the way, how his hair slipped through his fingers, and less fondly how they both screamed when the knock came at the window. “Until my dad busted us.” The laughter he gets out of Scott is almost worth the embarrassment he’d felt in telling him the story, from cracking his nose on Derek’s face down to eating the dirt after trying to move around on numb legs. 

“And then my dad said he was taking Derek home and I had to be home in 20 minutes or I’d lose the Jeep and then… then…” he lets the phone slip from his hand as he remembers, remembers glowing eyes and deadly teeth, remembers being so in awe of Derek, remembers saying _I’m in love_. “Oh shit.”

“ _What?_ ” He scoops the phone back up from the bed and runs a hand through his hair. 

“I just, I may have said something I shouldn’t have. I’m gonna- I’ll call you tomorrow? Kay?”

“ _Okay, but Stiles, whatever it is I’m sure you’re overthinking it. Later._ ” Stiles tosses the phone to his right and falls back onto the bed. He’d dropped the L-bomb. On the _second date_. Did he even mean it? He knows he feels _something_ , something much stronger than a crush, but love? But would he have said it if he didn’t? What did Derek think? Did it freak him out? Did he and his dad talk about it? Oh god, what if they talked about it? 

His phone buzzes next to his head, pausing the oncoming panic attack as he swipes the screen on.

_**Dude srsly dont overthink it**_

Maybe Scott’s right. Maybe he’s getting worked up over nothing and should just go to bed. He kicks off his pants and vows to not freak out about one little word. 

He won’t bring it up unless Derek does. 

______________________________

 

The next few weeks are a blur of lawncare, lacrosse, and liplocks. Laura makes Derek go shopping _again_ and the sheriff makes Stiles start filling out scholarship applications. They hang out together, sometimes alone, sometimes with Scott, a few times with Scott and Kira, and only once with Danny because Derek was afraid Stiles was going to blow a gasket if the goalie smiled at him one more time. 

Neither one mentions the L-word.

Stiles is trying to figure out the logistics of driving all the way to the preserve to pick Derek up every day before school without waking up before 7 but without being late and not asking for gas money but not going bankrupt either when an unfamiliar number starts flashing on his phone.

“Hello?” He answers a little warily, never trusting an unknown number. 

“ _Hey, guess who finally joined this century?_ ”

“Holy shit!” Stiles jumps up from his computer chair to pace around the room, “You got a phone?! When?”

“ _Just got it. Like, literally, we’re still at the mall_.”

“Oh my god, am I your first phonecall? I popped your phone’s cherry?”

“ _Stiles my mom is_ right here, _she can hear everything you say_ ”

“Okay,” he swipes over and texts _**there, popped your text cherry 2**_ , complete with a cherry icon and a kissy winky face. He can just imagine the blush Derek is sporting, and is about to go three for three and send him a picture of his ass when his bedroom door opens.

“Stiles for the love of god pull up your pants.” His dad says, more exasperation than anger in his voice as he crosses his arms and turns around. Stiles’ cheeks go pink as he can hear Derek sputtering on the other end of the phone.

“Hey babe I’ll call you back, okay?”

“ _Yeah, yeah that might be best,_ ” Derek manages to get out, “ _Later._ ”

“I’ll howl at’cha,” Stiles says cheekily before hanging up and giving his dad his full attention, “Yo, Dad.”

“Remember that talk we had?”

“Yes! Yes, you don’t need to remind me, I promise not to corrupt Derek. Too much.” The sheriff gives him a hard look before loosening the arms crossed over his chest.

“I took the afternoon off, thought we could take Roscoe in for a tune up, grab some dinner. But if you have plans with Derek-”

“No!” Stiles’ eyes are practically shining, “No, that sounds great. I’ll just let Derek know I’ll see him tomorrow.” He texts out a quick message, giddy both that he’s able to do that now, and that his dad took time off especially for him. He slides his phone into his pocket and looks at his dad. They share a quiet moment together, each taking the other in, like they haven’t seen one another in months.

“So,” John starts, breaking the silence, “first day of senior year.”

“Yeah.” 

“You ready?”

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes out, “yeah, I think so.”

“Good. Good,” John lets out a breath, “I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of you. I know it hasn’t been easy, what with your dad being the sheriff, and your mom… but you did it, and I’m just, I’m just really happy. And very proud.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles says, heart light as his father pulls him into a hug, “I’m happy and proud too.”

“Alright,” John thumps his back a couple times before holding him out at arm’s length. “Alright,” he smiles and drops his arms, “meet you at the cars in 20?”

“Yeah, yeah that sounds good. Let me just,” he jerks his thumb toward the inside of his room. John nods, giving him another proud-father smile before heading back down the stairs. Stiles watches him go, a little stunned at what had just transpired. While he and his dad have a good relationship, he knows it’s been strained in the past. An over-worked single parent and a hyperactive child who missed his mom, it’s a wonder they made it through junior high. But they’re here, they did it. Stiles grins a little crookedly as he grabs his phone and shoots a quick text to Derek, letting him know what’s going on and asking if he needs a ride to school tomorrow.

 _ **Have fun with your dad! And no, my mom said she has a surprise for me. I’m a little worried, meet you on the front steps?**_

Stiles sends back a thumbs up and a kiss mark, and then takes a quick snap of his butt with the caption _**first sext! Hat trick!**_ followed by three cry-laughing emojis. He only wishes he could see Derek’s face when he gets it. 

 

______________________________

 

The parking lot is already a hive of commotion by the time Stiles rolls in, Blink 182 blasting through his open windows. He waves at a couple people before finding a spot in the east lot, piling out of the jeep with all the grace of a drunken gazelle. 

He glances at the school steps and is surprised Derek isn’t there yet; he figured Talia as a “to be early is to be punctual” kind of person. Maybe it has something to do with the surprise. Maybe it was a new bike that Derek has to ride. Maybe it was a long lecture on how he’s dating below his station. Maybe it was enrollment to a new, prestigious high school-

“Stiles!” He jerks up to see Allison waving at him from the steps, Lydia by her side looking equal parts bored and bewitching. He nods and steps up his pace, launching over the partition and giving them each a quick hug in greeting. He checks around the steps again, making sure he didn’t somehow overlook Derek or lose him in the crowd, when Lydia lets out a sharp gasp.

“What? What happened?” He asks, jerking his head to look at her. 

“Who. The holy hell. Is _that_?” She breathes out. Stiles arches his neck around, squinting against the sun, trying to follow her line of vision. It looks like she’s focused on someone getting out of a Camaro, and he can’t stop the grin that breaks out across his face. 

“That’s my boyfriend.”

“No way do you get to call dibs, I saw him first.” 

“No, I mean, that’s literally my boyfriend. That’s Derek.”

“ _Hale?_ ” Allison and Lydia ask at the same time, same incredulity in their tone. Allison looks back, squinting and tilting her head from side to side, as though trying to verify Stiles’ claim. Lydia just flat out refuses to believe it.

“That is _not_ Derek Hale. Derek Hale is short and, and round.” 

“Well, I mean yeah, but, that’s him. I know that’s him.”

“Stiles, he’s taller than you!” 

“No, he’s…” Stiles pauses, thinking back on their last makeout session, how Stiles had to tilt his mouth up just a fraction, but that was only because they’d been sitting, right? Or had they? What about when he’d had Derek pressed against the wall? Were there height discrepancies then?

“He’s waving to you!” Allison pushes his shoulder, pulling him out of his thought spiral in time to see Derek’s arm go down. His surprisingly toned arm that looks _great_ in the maroon short-sleeved henley he’s wearing and oh god, Derek is hot. Like, _hot_. He shoots a quick look around, noticing everybody else noticing Derek, and his stomach sinks.

“Hey!” Derek calls out, jogging up the last few steps, concerned eyes zeroed in on Stiles, “Are you okay.”

“I’m…” Stiles furrows his brows, trying to reconcile the fact that the boy in front of him seemed to have metamorphosed into a standard teenage wet dream over the summer and Stiles didn’t even notice, even when he was focused on him the whole time. It didn’t make any sense. 

Derek is giving him a worried look, and Stiles realizes he never actually answered him. “I’m fine,” he assures, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. Derek follows the movement, eyebrows pinched.

“Are you,” he lowers his voice a pitch, “are you having second thoughts. About us?” Stiles looks over to where Lydia is blatantly leaning in to hear the conversation, sees about three other people doing the same, and shakes his head, grabbing Derek’s hand.

“Come on,” he leads Derek into the school, wincing at the sharp whistle someone lets out behind them. 

“I didn’t think about this part,” Derek murmurs, making Stiles’ heart ache. He’s probably realizing how far his option pool reaches, how many other people are painfully attracted to him. Stiles wants to grip his hand tighter, solidify what they have, but at the same thinks he should just let go entirely, let Derek have his freedom. They find a blessedly empty classroom and hurry in, and the way Derek checks the clock to make sure they won’t be late for first period makes Stiles' heart overflow with fondness, and just as quickly sour with the thought of losing him.

“So are we about to have ‘the talk’?” Derek asks, sitting heavily on one of the desks. Stiles looks him over again, wondering exactly when he got taller, when his muscles started to get defined. How someone can look exactly the same and wildly different at the same time. 

“Stiles?” Stiles blinks, focusing back on Derek’s face, looking drawn and concerned.

“Sorry, it’s just, seeing all these people, and you, and I just,” he lets out a huge breath, “I don’t want you to be with me just because I happened to be first in line, you know?” Derek’s looking at him, brows so low they’re practically touching.

“No, I really don’t.”

“Come on man, you saw all those people out there.”

“Yeah, all those people looking at you.” Stiles huffs out a laugh.

“No dude, they were looking at _you_.” Derek pulls back, confusion etched across his face.

“No…”

“Trust me, Derek. _Lydia Martin_ wanted to call dibs on you. You could be dating _Lydia Martin_.”

“But I don’t want to date Lydia Martin.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I want to date you!” Derek practically shouts, making Stiles jerk back a little, “But,” he continues, much quieter, “if you’d rather-” Stiles is on him in an instant, kissing him breathless as the first warning bell rings. He pulls back, thrilling a little as Derek’s mouth chases his.

“I promised my dad I wouldn’t be a bad influence on you,” he whispers, pressing his nose against his cheek and giving him a chaste peck. Derek turns and catches his mouth again, growling a little as his hand cups Stiles’ jaw, holding him steady. This time when they pull apart it’s Stiles’ cheeks that are pink.

“I didn’t,” he smirks, flashing his eyes once before hopping off the desk and heading toward the door. Stiles gapes after him, adjusting his semi and grumbling about unfair advantages before following him out the door. There are a couple hoots and hollars as they walk back into the hallway, a surprising amount of stragglers for the first day of school. Stiles ignores them, pulling Derek close and whispering in his ear before giving him a quick kiss and heading down the hallway toward his first period. He slips into the seat next to Scott, giving him a complicated high five before he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He glances at the front of the room, heart rabbiting before he pulls it out and swipes the screen on.

_**I love you too** _


End file.
